Resident Evil 6: From the Shadows
by Feriku
Summary: Two years after the events in Africa, the world is shaken by a series of bioterrorism attacks. Chris and Jill bring together a team to find the source and stop them, but as they struggle to find answers, someone begins attacking them, one by one...
1. Chapter 1: Attacked

_It had been two years. We thought it was over. We thought we could have peace.  
><em>_We couldn't have been more mistaken.  
><em>-Chris Redfield's diary, April 23, 2011

**Resident Evil 6: From the Shadows**

Chapter 1: Attacked

The sun was just beginning to drop in the sky when the woman on the motorcycle drove into town that Friday afternoon. The town was laid out in neat blocks across the flat plains, with slightly more urban elements including a hospital, a small hotel, a series of apartment buildings, and a street lined with stores. However, it was still rural enough to be considered quiet, peaceful, and the perfect place to go to leave behind your days of chasing after bio-organic weapons and their makers.

At least, that was how Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine had felt. After recovering from Kijuju, the two had spearheaded the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance's effort to make sure no trace of Uroboros still existed. After that, all suspicious activity related to B.O.W.s died down and then seemed to vanish entirely. They had resigned with the sincere well wishes from their superiors and enough money to relocate to a quiet area; after leaving with the assurance that they would return to service if it ever became necessary, they had come to this town on the advice of Barry Burton, who had moved there a few years earlier.

However, Claire Redfield was not driving her motorcycle towards the eastern side of town, where Chris and Jill's houses were, nor towards the northern outskirts, where Barry's family lived. Instead, she was headed for the apartment building in one of the center blocks.

Claire was dressed for riding, wearing her red leather jacket over her black clothes, as well as a pair of boots. Her suitcase sat firmly in the bike's luggage rack, because she was intending to spend the weekend with her brother. The first order of business, though, had to do with the letter she held in her hand.

She had been shocked to hear from Sherry Birkin after all these years. More surprising still was the news that Sherry had moved into an apartment in the same town that Chris lived in—and had gone visiting her Redfield neighbor only to discover that the one she knew wasn't there. Her letter indicated that she was doing well, and it had gone into some detail about how she had fared over the years. She had ended by inviting Claire to visit her the next time she was in town.

Claire checked the name on the front of the building against the address on the letter, and then she parked alongside the apartment. It was going to be strange seeing Sherry again. Even knowing how much time had passed, she couldn't help but think of her as the little girl she had met in Raccoon City. She didn't even know what had become of her after their escape, as she had lost contact with her after renewing her search for Chris. She hoped Sherry didn't hold it against her.

_From her letter, I doubt she holds a grudge against me for anything._

She got off her bike and opened the door to the apartment building. Having never been in there before, she wasn't sure if anyone could walk in or if visitors needed to be let in by the residents. She had responded to Sherry's letter telling her when she expected to be in the neighborhood, so hopefully she had remembered.

The doors opened right into the lobby, however, so she kept walking, looking around as she went. It looked like a nice place, although all of the desks were currently vacant. She looked down at the note again. Sherry lived in Apartment 217. She crossed the room to press the button for the elevator, wishing that she had seen at least one other person in the lobby. The Raccoon City incident and everything that had followed it had left all of them a bit paranoid. The elevator doors opened, and after glancing out the window at the sunshine for reassurance, she entered the empty elevator.

The trip to the second floor was a short one, and when she stepped out into the hallway, she took a deep breath and braced herself to meet someone she hadn't seen in over a decade. She walked down the hall, noticing as she did so that some of the doors were ajar. Just another thing to make her nervous…

The door marked 217 was one of them, and when she knocked on it, it swung open entirely. She looked in. The lights were still on in the apartment, revealing a neat living room and a small kitchen area beyond it. She didn't see Sherry.

"Hello?" she called, lingering near the door. "Sherry? Are you home? It's Claire."

She was just about ready to turn back and try again another day, when something unusual about the kitchen table caught her attention. The floor around it was littered with items—cans, cookbooks, and even a flower vase. The table itself was entirely clean, except for what looked like a pad of paper in the center.

It looked too deliberate, as though it was intended to draw attention to the paper. Thinking that Sherry might have stepped out and left her a note, Claire walked across the living room over to the table. The top sheet of paper did have a note on it, written in the same handwriting that had been on the letter and addressed to her. It was very short:

_Claire,  
><em>_They're coming.  
><em>_Sherry_

"'They're coming?'" she read with a frown, picking up the note. What sort of a message was that? It sounded like a warning.

The apartment door slammed shut, and she whirled around, heart pounding. No one was there. She looked around, trying to judge if anyone could have hidden in the time it had taken her to turn around. A slight breeze touched her arm, and she realized she was just being paranoid again. It happened all the time back at her place, doors slamming shut on their own when the windows were open.

_Why would Sherry have left the window open if she was going out?_ she wondered. Thinking also of the way the door had been left open, she put the note back on the table and walked in the direction of the breeze. It was coming from the bedroom, and while she didn't want to be snooping around Sherry's apartment, she stuck her head in just to see.

The outside wall had a window that gave a nice view of the immediate neighborhood, including a garden marked off for use of the apartment tenants. It would have been a nice view, except that the window had clearly been broken. A few shards of glass still remained on the edges.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. This was getting weird, and she knew it wasn't just paranoia this time. It was time to get out of here and maybe even call the police. She started to back up, and then a groan from the other side of the bed froze her in her tracks.

"Sherry?" she asked. There was no answer. She wanted nothing more than to leave the apartment as quickly as she could, but if that was Sherry back there, injured from whatever had happened here…

She took a cautious step into the bedroom, moving slowly around the bed. She looked to see what had made the noise—and a cold hand grabbed her leg.

Claire yelled and kicked her way free, backing up as the zombie groaned again and got up off the ground. She looked at the decaying flesh and the jerky movements and wondered how it was possible, when the T-virus hadn't been seen for so many years. Why it was here, though, didn't matter at the moment.

She grabbed a lamp from the nightstand, planning to use it as a weapon in case any more of them were around, and then she turned and ran out of the bedroom. A closet burst open as she ran for the apartment door, and a zombie lunged for her. She hit it as hard as she could with the lamp and ran into the hallway.

The open doors now looked far more ominous than they had earlier, and she heard squeaking hinges as she raced to the elevator. After hammering the button, she looked over her shoulder and saw two zombies lumbering down the hall towards her. A third one was emerging from a door across from her.

She looked back at the closed elevator doors, willing them to open. She looked back at the zombies and then took off in the direction she hoped the stairs were, silently cursing the elevator. A zombie shuffled out of an apartment in front of her, trying to grab her when she approached. She dodged it and kept running, only to hit another one when she rounded the corner.

It grabbed her, and she smashed the lamp into it as hard as she could. The zombie fell away from her, momentarily stunned, and she hurried past it. She could see a sign for the stairs now, at the end of the hall.

The apartment building, which had been too quiet when she entered, now seemed too noisy. The groans of the zombies punctuated the eerie cadence of screams from the apartments that ended too quickly as the tenants were attacked and infected.

_A quiet, peaceful little town_, Claire thought grimly, as she made it to the end of the hall and started down the stairs. It wasn't peaceful anymore. A group of zombies were waiting in the lobby, but she forced her way past them and flung open the doors to the outside.

Before she could even catch her breath, shots rang out. She dropped to the ground and let go of the lamp as the wall behind her was riddled with bullets. She could see people lining the street, aiming at the building's doors.

"Don't shoot!" she shouted. "I'm a human!"

Her words had no effect. If anything, the intensity of the firing continued. Keeping low to the ground and trying to stay in the shadow of the apartment building, she crept in the direction she had left her motorcycle, going as quickly as she dared. She could hear shouts coming from the shooters, some asking if anyone could see her and others ordering that they couldn't let her get away.

Claire's heart, already pounding, skipped a beat. The people shooting knew she wasn't a zombie, and they were trying to kill her anyway.

She had reached the side of the building and her motorcycle, and she knew she wouldn't be able to hide any longer. She would have to be fast. She jumped up, got onto the bike as quickly as she could, and got it started. All she could hear over the rumble of the engine was people shouting, and then she shooting began.

A bullet singed her jacket, coming too close for comfort, but then the motorcycle started moving. She rode faster than she ever had before, not caring that she was breaking the law. If the police stopped her, at least she would have some help. She hoped her attackers would be more concerned about the apartment building, but the shouts behind her indicated that at least some of them had followed her.

She turned sharply around a corner and then turned again at the next corner she reached. Going this fast, she could barely see what she was doing; she would barely have time to react if anything got in her way. She turned again, intending to eventually head for Chris's house, but mainly focusing on losing her pursuers.

She could hear screams and shouts throughout the neighborhood now, no doubt in response to the shooting. She wondered if any of the people had any idea of what was happening in the apartments. She shuddered.

Sherry had escaped, that much she believed. She had somehow known that they were going to be attacked, and she had left the note to try to warn Claire as well. Claire hadn't seen a zombie that looked like her, so that had to mean she had gotten away—unless she had been shot while escaping.

The angry shouts were getting fainter, so she risked slowing down. Keeping a wary eye out for danger, she made her way to the eastern end of town, where things were still quiet. Chris's house was easy to find even if she hadn't known the address, as it was the only one on the street with green siding. She left her motorcycle in his driveway and climbed the steps to the door.

She realized that she was shaking from what had happened. After all this time, she had thought the nightmare was finally over. Was it a coincidence that this had happened in the town where her brother and Jill lived, or was someone targeting them?

She knocked on the door, knocking harder when no one answered right away. The outbreak was blocks away. He had to be all right. She raised her fist to knock even harder, when the door opened and she nearly punched Jill in the face.

"Claire?"

"Jill!" she gasped, lowering her hand and nearly falling inside.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm…" She wasn't quite sure how to answer that.

"What is it?" Chris asked, running into the room. "Something's wrong with Claire? Claire! Claire, are you all right?"

"Zombies," she whispered. "They're swarming all over Sherry Birkin's apartment building."

"None of them got you, did they?" Chris asked. He looked terrified of hearing her answer.

"No, I got away fine. I was almost shot, though," she added.

"Shot?" Jill asked.

"There were gunmen waiting outside the building. I don't know who they were, but they didn't want me to get away. They knew I was human. They were trying to kill me."

Chris threw open a closet door and began digging through it. For someone who had resigned, he sure had his arsenal close at hand. Claire looked from his grim frown to Jill's too-pale face and knew that the paranoia had been even worse for them during these years of supposed peace.

They armed themselves, and Claire was surprised when Jill handed her a gun. She was even more surprised when Chris handed her a piece of paper. She looked at it and saw a list of names and phone numbers.

"Stay here," he said. "Call everyone on this list and tell them what happened. The B.S.A.A. needs to know about this."

She opened her mouth to argue that she wanted to go with him, and then she closed it again. He was right. He and Jill were better fighters than she was, and someone had to tell the B.S.A.A. "All right," she said, "but be careful."

"You be careful too," Chris said, running out the door. Jill threw a sympathetic look behind her, and then she closed the door, leaving Claire alone in the house.

It suddenly seemed too empty and too quiet.

The phone sat on an end table by the couch. She edged over to it, glad to have the gun even in a place that should have been safe. The paranoia felt justified after what had happened. She sat down and placed the gun beside her, well within reach.

She dialed the first number on the list, but the line was busy. She moved on to the second, deciding to go back to any she missed once she reached the end. However, that line was also busy, and there was no answer at the one after that. She continued down the list, dialing number after number with no success. When someone finally did answer, she was so startled that she almost dropped the phone.

"Hello?"

Claire looked to see where she was at on the list and felt a wave of relief. She had never met Sheva Alomar, but she knew she had been Chris's partner in Africa and could be relied upon. "Hello? This is Claire Redfield. I'm at my brother's house."

"Is it the T-virus?" Sheva asked without waiting to hear more.

The lines being tied up now made a dark sort of sense. "There have been other incidents tonight?"

"It's an international crisis."

"Chris and Jill are out there fighting. There's more than just zombies; there are people with guns on the other side, too!"

"Don't worry. We're sending help."

Claire finished the calls numbly, getting through to only a few other people. The urgency of contacting them had faded. Help was on the way, and the reappearance of the T-virus was not something the B.S.A.A. needed to be informed about. They already knew.

_An international crisis._

When she had given up on reaching anyone else on the list, she hung up the phone and walked over to the window, looking outside. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she could hear sounds from the battle. She tightened her grip on the gun and wondered if she should go out there to try to help, even if Chris had told her to stay there.

There was a time when she would have done so without a second thought. Now, however, she thought about what it would do to Chris if he returned and found his sister missing. She wondered if he knew what it would do to her if he never came back.

She stared out the window and prayed that they would both return safely.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Well, here I am, with my first serious Resident Evil story! I know the title is a little pretentious, but don't worry...I'm trying very hard to make the story live up to it. The rating is there just in case; this IS a horror story based on an M-rated game series, after all. There is mild shipping of my favored pairings and some OC involvement. I love reviews, your questions and comments, theories and ideas... and I dearly hope you all enjoy reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.<em>

_Update: Well over a year later, I have finally decided to give this story a title, to avoid confusion with the canon RE6._


	2. Chapter 2: Targets

Chapter 2: Targets

Jill ran alongside Chris down the streets of the town. The further they got from his house, the more apparent it became that something was going on. She could hear gunshots and screaming, and she readied her weapons, a handgun in each hand.

She scanned the area around them for threats even as she ran, a habit that was ingrained by now. It had done nothing to help her stress in the past, and it was a habit she was supposed to be trying to break, but it would prove useful now that the peace had been shattered. She had known something like this would happen again. She hadn't known when, or where, or how it would happen, but she had known their supposed retirement was just a myth.

They were getting closer now, close enough that she expected something to jump out at them any second. She took a deep breath, eyes flickering across the doors and windows they passed.

Chris glanced at her and slowed his pace. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," she said. The screams were getting louder. "I'm not going to fall down or anything, don't worry."

He didn't smile, but just gave a serious nod. He was the only person who knew the full extent of how she still suffered from what Wesker had done to her. After two years, the memories should have faded; that was what everyone said. The therapists frustrated by her refusal of medication, the friends eyeing her like a ticking bomb while saying they understood, and the relatives trying to cope so soon after learning to cope with her death—they all thought she should have gotten over it. Only Chris and a few trusted others—Claire, Barry, Sheva, Leon—truly understood. And Chris knew more than anyone. He was there for her whenever she needed him.

It was hard for memories to fade when you were reminded of them every time you looked into the mirror. She had dyed her hair brown to start with, but when it grew out and still was blonde, she had given up. Supposedly that was a good sign. They said denial was dangerous. In some ways, she hoped to be reminded, even as she dreaded it each day. There were gaps in her memories that hadn't been there before—the mind could blank out particularly traumatic memories, she had been told—and the thought of forgetting what had happened to her was more terrifying than having to remember it. All she could do was cope, and try to live as though everything was normal, and hope that someday her life would be like everyone else's again.

They reached the source of the chaos. The police had arrived, and now four police cars blocked the road by the apartment building. The officers were engaged in a firefight with the shooters Claire had mentioned, who had broken into several surrounding buildings and were using them for cover and strategic maneuvers. They were dressed like civilians, but they were fighting like a military unit. There was nothing she could see to explain why they were attacking innocent people in the wake of a bioterrorist attack. The zombies themselves had not been entirely contained, and now several were staggering around, attacking the distracted combatants.

Jill shot a zombie about to attack a police officer. Her first shot hit it in the arm, but her second got its head, and it crumpled to the ground.

"B.S.A.A.!" one of their mysterious enemies shouted, as Chris fired upon the group.

_We aren't wearing our uniforms. They recognized us_, she realized with a chill. She jumped to the side as a man with a machine gun took aim at her; the bullets swept through the air past her and she shot him.

He stumbled backwards but didn't fall or scream. Giving no indication that he felt the bullet wound, he fired at her again, joined by one of his companions. Jill dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way before getting to her feet again.

"They're all like that!" one of the police officers shouted to her. "It takes too many shots to bring one down!"

She heard a dull groan from behind her and whirled around to see a zombie shambling towards her. She shot it before it could get any closer and then looked to see what had happened to Chris.

He was at the other end of the street now, grappling hand-to-hand with one of the enemies. Others were converging upon him, but before she could do anything to help, one of the officers yelled a warning.

She moved just in time to avoid another round of ammo from her machine gun-wielding assailants, and then she aimed for the first one's head as she had done to destroy the zombies. Her first shot was slightly off, blasting off part of his jaw with a spray of blood. He didn't seem to care and continued walking towards her.

A shadow had fallen over the street, and she noticed distantly that dark clouds were rolling in. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the first drops of rain began to fall. Raindrops mingled with blood on the ground, and even as she kept an eye on all of the people trying to kill her, she realized that something was happening to the face of the one she had shot.

His throat bulged for a moment, and then a creature resembling a giant centipede burst out of his neck, sending blood and the remains of his head flying. Jill ducked as gore splattered her, and then she began firing at the creature. It was still walking towards her with the man's body, although it didn't seem capable of aiming the gun anymore.

_Las Plagas_. She shot at the insectoid body of the parasite until it screeched and its host fell down dead. The others had gotten closer to her now, and as she turned to fight them, she saw the glowing eyes of the infected. _The Ganados and Majini rarely used guns. And they never were this organized._

Rather than attacking as a mob, they had now split into groups and seemed to be trying to separate their enemies. Someone was shouting orders to them, and they obeyed with unsettling skill. Jill fought off the two closest to her, managing to take one down without it revealing its parasite, and using the last of her current round of ammo to kill the second.

It was hard to see in the darkness brought on by the storm, and for a few moments she could do nothing but wait and react, attacking the enemies when they revealed themselves by attacking her.

"Grenade!" someone shouted, just before a part of the street and one of the police cars was blown into the air. Jill raised her arms to shield herself from the flying debris, hearing agonized screams from the victims of the blast. She looked up, trying to see where it had come from, but then someone was shooting at her again.

She ducked and ran as she fired back, trying not to slip on the wet blacktop. Her opponent exploded into an inhuman mess resembling the Duvalia Plagas that had been in Africa. Rows of teeth bore down on her from a dripping maw, and she quickly reached into the pack she had taken from Chris's house.

"Flash grenade!" she shouted to warn the others, before throwing it at the monster and squeezing her own eyes closed. She opened her eyes after the flash, to see the creature falling to the ground. There was no time to think about it, however, because more would be coming.

Lightning flashed, and she saw several zombies making their way across the street. They had come from the apartment building and were attacking indiscriminately, infecting and feasting upon anyone in their path. Police and Plagas infectees alike turned to face this new threat.

"No!" a voice yelled, carrying clearly even through the sounds of the battle and the storm. She recognized it as the voice that had been giving orders earlier. "Leave the zombies!"

They turned their attention away from the zombies even as cars came to a halt behind the police blockade. Glancing over her shoulder, Jill recognized them as B.S.A.A. units. Claire must have gotten through. She returned to the battle with renewed hope.

With more evenly matched numbers, the fighting began to go easier, even with the parasites' surprises and the confusion being caused by the zombies. Two allies came to stand near her, and they battled as a team. She could hear someone yelling for a unit to check the apartment for survivors.

Then she heard the Plagas' commander shouting over the chaos again. "A Regiment, survivor elimination! B Regiment, fire support! C Regiment, get Valentine! And Redfield!"

Although she had already realized they had been recognized, hearing them singled out as targets made her blood run cold. The battle suddenly changed as she was rushed, with the reinforcements struggling to stay with her as they were forced to back up. There was no time to think, no time to do anything but fight as she was attacked from all sides.

An enemy with a centipede-head loomed in front of her, and she shot it down just in time to face another Duvalia-like Plaga coming up from the side. She risked another flash grenade, but then something heavy struck her from the side as a gun fired. Jill hit the ground hard, and tried to get to her feet, but the person who had tackled her didn't move. She grabbed a cold hand to pull him off, realizing as she did so that it was one of her allies. A second later, she realized the man was dead, having taken the bullet for her while knocking her out of the way.

She felt numb, but there was no time to think now, while the battle was still on. She got up and saw that they had fallen into a spot temporarily free of the fight.

"Get their leader!" she heard Chris yell. "Somebody get their leader!"

A bolt of lightning crackled, with thunder so loud it seemed to be right beside them, and in the light Jill could see the man giving their enemies orders. Dressed all in black, he had climbed on top of the wrecked police car to oversee the battle. He turned his head and seemed to meet her gaze for the split second of light, and then in the darkness she saw him leap from the top of the car and run towards one of the buildings.

Not knowing if anyone else had seen, she took off after him. He did not seem to have control over the Plagas, but he was at least their military leader. If he was brought down, they might lose their organization and strategy.

Two men jumped into her path as she ran, shouting to the others that they had found her. Kicking one in the chest before he could shoot, she holstered her guns because she was running out of ammo. She pulled out her knife. She dispatched him while keeping an eye on her second attacker, but he was busy with three members of the B.S.A.A. who had run to help. She started in that direction, hoping to find the commander again, and a hand grabbed her arm.

She turned, ready to defend herself, but it was Chris. "What is it?"

"They're trying to take one prisoner."

Looking again, she saw that the soldiers fighting the Plagas infectee were aiming to wound, but not kill. She didn't know what they hoped to achieve, but then she didn't know if any of the Ganados or Majini had ever been taken prisoner. They never had been seen under these circumstances.

"I'm going after their leader," she said.

"All right." He let go of her arm, but he opened his mouth as if he had more to say.

"What?" she asked, keeping an eye out for any threats around them.

"Their leader, it's not…anyone we know?" he asked, with only the slightest hesitation.

She shook her head. The man she had seen had had aquiline features and long black hair; she couldn't remember ever seeing him before. Besides, she knew what Chris really was trying to ask, and it certainly hadn't been _him_.

An explosion rocked the ground nearby, throwing them backwards onto the hard ground. When Jill got up, she saw that the three B.S.A.A. members and the man they had been fighting were no longer there, but the crater where they had been before implicated it as the site of the explosion. Past that spot, she saw the black-clad commander again, and he saw her, too.

"There they are! Both of them!"

"Go, Jill!" Chris yelled, as the battle moved rapidly towards him. "Get him!"

She wanted to help him, but they both knew that stopping the leader of this attack was more important. She now hoped she would be able to capture him. Chris's question had reminded her that knowing the source of this attack was important.

She took off again, dodging the people trying to shoot at her. The commander saw her coming and disappeared into a building that had been taken over near the start of the fight. She darted in after him and found herself in a stairwell. In the dim light from the building's upper windows, she saw him reach the top of the stairs and turn. There was a light switch beside her, but when she flipped it, it did nothing.

Watching for any traps or threats, she started up the stairs. Although she had been slightly disoriented due to the battle and the rain, she was pretty sure they were in a different apartment building than the one that had been attacked. This had to be some sort of side entrance. In contrast to the raging chaos outside, it seemed too calm inside for comfort, but she made it to the first landing without anything happening.

The landing was home to a door leading out to the second floor apartments, but she could hear footsteps above her. He was still climbing the stairs. She followed, unwilling to let her guard down though she wished she could run heedlessly after him. She stopped on another landing, but then continued up the stairs at the sound of clinking footsteps above. The wooden stairs gave way to metal as she left the third floor landing behind.

Wings rustled, and she raised her gun as several dark shapes swooped down upon her. They were only normal bats, however, disrupted by people walking up these seldom-used stairs. They flew past her and she kept going, slightly shaken by the surprise. She should have seen them before they got that close.

The footsteps above her suddenly ceased, and she paused. There was the quiet _snick_ of a door being pulled closed. She hurried the rest of the way to find the final landing and an unmarked door. She tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

Jill almost smiled. If he thought that was going to stop her, he didn't know who he was dealing with. Putting away her knife, she reached for her lockpick, only to remember that she had gotten this pack of equipment from Chris's house. He had kept several such packs in case someone needed to arm themselves quickly, and it hadn't occurred to him to include lockpicks. She studied the door. It looked too sturdy to be able to break it down alone.

Reluctantly granting her enemy a temporary victory, she crept back down the stairs to look for something to use. She tried the door to the third floor, but it also was locked. Cursing under her breath, she continued down and found, to her relief, that the second floor's landing had an unlocked door.

Gunfire broke out as soon as she opened the door.

Jill dropped to the ground, pulling out of her guns and shooting at the legs of her attackers. They stumbled and stopped firing, and she jumped up to kick one to the ground. She shot the other again, holstering her gun in his distraction and grabbing the shotgun of the one who had fallen. She fired it at her opponent, and a bladed Plaga burst out from his neck, only falling after three more shots.

Keeping the shotgun to conserve her own ammo, she pocketed the ammunition carried by both infectees, and then she headed down the hallway. The apartment was like a scene from a nightmare. There was no sign that the zombies had made it here, but Las Plagas had been brutal in their takeover. Doors hung off their hinges, blood stained the carpets, and bodies lay sprawled everywhere. Now, the place seemed eerily abandoned.

She had to step over the body of a child to enter the first apartment on the floor, and she felt cold inside. She would take the leader alive, though she wanted to kill him for what he and his infected soldiers had done. She would capture him, and he would tell them who was behind this.

The inside of the apartment looked almost normal, in terrible contrast to the bodies at its doorway. They must have heard the fighting and had been trying to escape. The family's dinner still sat on the table, although the chairs had been thrown aside in panic. By the time she reached the first bedroom, there was no sign anything had happened at all.

Feeling like a thief, she opened the jewelry box that sat on the dresser and dug through it, searching for anything that could be used to open locks. The people it had belonged to were all dead. She hoped they would be glad to know something of theirs could be used to help stop those responsible for their deaths.

She found a hairpin and studied it. It would do.

Closing the box out of a strange sense of duty, she left the apartment. The hall was still empty, and she wondered if all of the Plagas infectees were out in the battle, or if they were waiting to ambush her somewhere along the way. Alert for anything suspicious, she made her way back to the stairwell and started climbing up again.

Nothing stopped her, and when she picked the lock on the uppermost floor, she opened the door onto some sort of storage room. The black-haired man was sitting in a broken chair, watching the door. He didn't react at all to her bursting in on him.

"Put your hands up," she said, pointing the borrowed shotgun at him. "I'm taking you into custody."

He stood up but made no other move. "I wondered when you'd get here."

"What do you mean?"

He took a step towards her, heedless of the gun. "The battle will soon be over. It doesn't matter who wins. We got our target."

"What are you talking about?" she asked. Her stomach lurched. He couldn't mean Chris was dead, could he? Up here, he would have no way of knowing what was going on in the battle. Or did he mean that he was going to kill—or capture—her?

She stared at the way he was dressed, realizing suddenly that although she had never seen him before, those black clothes were familiar.

_No._

He pulled out a knife, and she darted to the side, resisting the memories that were pulling at her mind. She had to remain alert, especially now. She tensed, expecting him to approach, but he remained where he was.

_A dreamless sleep, returning to consciousness in a room full of scientists, a glimpse of cat-like eyes, a soldier standing guard by the door…_

She forced the images away as the man raised his knife. Due to the distance between them, he would have to throw it to hit her, and she prepared to dive away the moment it left his hand. That moment never came.

He brought the blade up abruptly in one smooth motion, cutting his throat to send blood spilling out onto his black shirt. He fell to the ground, lifeless, and she found herself walking over to him to see if he was really dead. She didn't understand why he had done it. Had he thought he couldn't beat her and wasn't willing to be taken alive? Then why had he locked himself in to wait for her? It didn't make sense, and yet there he lay, dead.

She knelt by the body, feeling numb and confused, and the memories she had been trying to block came rushing back to her now. She saw the room she was trying to escape, and the desperate struggle that followed; she saw the soldiers in their black uniforms fighting her, restraining her, because she was too weak and unarmed and couldn't beat them; she saw the hard face and cold gray eyes of the soldier in command; she saw Wesker and heard his laughter, persisting throughout memories he hadn't laughed in; with the surreal quality of a nightmare she felt them putting the device on her chest to control her, and she reached up to try to claw it off, knowing from previous experiments what that drug would do to her…

"Jill!"

And suddenly Chris's arms were around her, and she realized that she was in the storage room at the top of an apartment building, kneeling in a dead man's blood. She lowered her hand, but not before touching her shirt hesitantly to make sure there really wasn't a device full of P30 underneath it. She shuddered and gasped in relief, reaching up to wipe her face when she realized it was covered in tears.

"Are you all right?" Chris asked, not letting go of her.

She lowered her head. Why did it have to happen here? If these things had to happen, why couldn't they happen when she had nothing to do? She couldn't afford to suffer a flashback while she was at a battle zone. "I hate this," she whispered. "I hate being weak."

"Jill…" When she looked up at him, his eyes were full of compassion, and he hugged her tighter. "You're not weak, Jill. You're the strongest person I know." She managed a faltering smile, and he said, "I mean that."

"Thanks," she whispered. "I'm okay. It's passing."

He finally let go of her then, helping her to her feet. Her clothes were dripping with blood, and she realized how disturbing of a scene it must have been when he first entered. She was glad it had been him.

"We won the battle," he said quietly, "but it was close." He looked at the dead commander, frowning when he noticed where the knife was. "What happened here?"

"I'm not quite sure," she said, drawing a shaky breath. "He ran up here and locked the door. When I got in, he acted as though he had been waiting for me. He said it didn't matter who won the battle, because they'd gotten their target, and then…he just pulled out a knife and killed himself."

"Just like outside," Chris murmured, and she looked at him sharply. He shivered. "I've never seen anyone, even the Majini, act the way those men and women out there did. Any we tried to capture would pull out a grenade and blow up the area. When it was clear we were going to win…they all just killed themselves." He shook his head. "What next?"

"There's one more thing you should know," she said. "The commander is wearing an H.C.F. uniform."

He stiffened, staring at the dead man. The Hive/Host Capture Force had been Wesker's private army. Her memories of them were few and dark, concerning a small number of them that had guarded her during her time as Wesker's prisoner—and test subject. Yet it didn't make any sense. The commander had not acted like a highly trained soldier. It was as strange as everything else that had happened here.

"Let's get out of here," Chris muttered.

They hurried out of the room and down the stairs, and when they opened the door and stepped out into the rain, a voice began shouting for them. Looking past the people gathering the dead, mourning their fallen friends, and trying to clean up the area, Jill saw Sheva running towards them.

The African woman was wearing a standard B.S.A.A. uniform, but her hair was in complete disarray. She looked as though she was ready to drop from exhaustion. Jill knew she was fairly high in the ranks now, but she didn't know why she would have come all the way out here herself. From the look on her face, it wasn't just because they were friends. "You're all right! You're both all right!"

"Barely," Chris said grimly.

"The B.S.A.A. is spread pretty thin now. We're going to need you two in the days ahead."

"There were more attacks than just this one?" Jill asked, alarmed.

Sheva grimaced. "They happened all across the world. Jill, do you have any immediate family members alive?"

"I…yes." She stared, startled by the change of subject. "Why?"

"I need their addresses so that we can send someone to protect them." She handed her a pad of paper and a pen. "I also need to find Barry Burton."

Jill wrote quickly as Chris gave directions to Barry's house. They thought her family was in danger? And Barry? And yet she hadn't asked Chris about any of his relatives. "Why my family?" she asked, handing back the addresses and the pen.

Sheva glanced away for a moment and then looked back. "I hate to put it this bluntly, but it's because you worked with Wesker. We aren't waiting to see if they exclude you and Barry because you were coerced; the pattern we've seen so far says that these attacks are targeting the families of people connected to Umbrella."

She flinched, but nodded. Her family had to be safe. She would have known if something had happened to them. They were all right. They had to be.

"Sherry," Chris said suddenly. "Claire came here to visit Sherry Birkin; both of her parents were Umbrella scientists!"

"Then we know who the target was," Sheva said. She stood there quietly for a moment and then shook her head. "I have to go. We can't waste any more time."

"Wait," Jill called as she turned to go, as a face from the past rose up in her mind. "If they're targeting people connected to Umbrella—"

Sheva turned back and laid a hand on her shoulder. "We're looking for the Oliveiras, but I can't make any promises. I'm sorry. I know Carlos was a friend of yours."

Then she left them, and as they stood in the pouring rain amidst the carnage, Jill looked out at nothing and wondered how everything could have changed so quickly.


	3. Chapter 3: The Organization

Chapter 3: The Organization

Sitting on the couch in Chris's living room, Claire kept nodding off and jerking back awake. It was well into the night—the morning, actually, she realized, seeing that the clock on the wall above the television said it was now past midnight—but none of them had been able to sleep. The phone kept ringing with updates, but other than the news that the Burtons were safe, they knew nothing about their friends and relatives. Jill, sitting beside her on the couch, had been staring straight ahead for the past two hours, moving only when the phone rang.

Chris kept pacing from room to room, going from the living room and the dining room, out to the kitchen, and then coming back again. Occasionally he went outside, as if considering running off to get answers for himself. He had made several phone calls at first, and now he didn't seem to know what to do with himself. Whenever the phone rang in the kitchen, he was the first one to it. A messenger had just arrived at the door to give him a stack of papers outlining the situation, but the only difference was that now he was reading as he paced.

"Sheva was right," he said, wandering into the living room. "I recognize so many of these family names. According to this data, every city that was hit contained at least one person connected to Umbrella, WilPharma, or Tricell, either having worked for them or being related to someone who had. The death toll is…astronomical…and this is only the current information."

He paced out of the room and then came right back, nearly running. "There's one exception: here. Sherry Birkin isn't listed at all. If we hadn't known that she lived there, we still wouldn't know why that apartment building was targeted."

"Sherry escaped," Claire said. Her throat felt dry, and she cleared it before continuing. "I know she did. She left a note warning me, and her window had been smashed open. I didn't see her there, either."

"She left you a note?"

"Yes. It said, 'They're coming.'"

Chris paced away again, frowning.

"How did she escape?" Jill asked. Her voice sounded hollow. "Did she know it was going to happen?"

"She couldn't!" Claire protested. "She wouldn't have kept something like that a secret, knowing how many people would be in danger!"

"I met Sherry," Chris said, returning. "She came by the house looking for you, Claire, and we ended up talking for a while. I agree, she wouldn't have had anything to do with something like this."

He walked out again, and she tried to put herself in Sherry's shoes that afternoon. Perhaps she had seen one of the zombies…possibly even the one that had been in her apartment. She would have recognized it as one of the undead, and then she could have written the note and then…broken the window and climbed down the side of the building.

_Why didn't she just open the window?_ she wondered, before asking herself if she would take the time to open a window while a zombie was trying to bite her, or if she would have smashed it, too. But the waiting gunmen hadn't gotten Sherry either, which seemed to make her a unique case.

"Chris, please stop pacing," Jill said, as he walked in and out of the room yet again.

He came back in and sat down in the chair in the corner, across the room from them. A final chair sat empty alongside the couch. "I'm sorry. I'm just restless." He indicated one of the papers in his hand and shook his head. "Worldwide attacks, all at roughly the same time, targeting specific people…and they all had the same set up. The zombies attacked from inside, people infected with Las Plagas were waiting outside to shoot the survivors, they used suicide tactics, and their commander killed himself after being confronted." He put that page at the bottom of the stack and nodded grimly at the next one. "I asked them to check out the uniforms, and the current data indicates that not only was every commander wearing an H.C.F. uniform, but several sites are reporting that a zombie in that uniform was discovered as well. One report has a witness whose testimony suggests that a man in that uniform walked into the building, infected himself with the T-virus, and started the outbreak."

Claire didn't like to admit to herself that she felt mingled dread and hope whenever they mentioned the H.C.F.'s apparent involvement. She knew that this could be very bad, but she couldn't help but remember that the H.C.F. had been the ones to attack Rockfort Island, thirteen years ago. They had taken Steve Burnside's body. If there was any chance at all that he was still alive…if they could trace the H.C.F. from these attacks…

Jill put her head in her hands. "What is this? Some massive form of revenge?"

"No one knows." He pulled out another piece of paper. "Right now, the world's governments are in a panic. Germany accused the B.S.A.A. of being behind it, Italy accused the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium, and Russia accused the United States… Those were the initial reactions, and now everyone's trying to make peace without knowing who they can trust."

"Does the B.S.A.A. have any plans?" Claire asked.

"Yes. They've put us in charge of the investigation, Jill. I have a message here that details why we are the people most capable of learning who was behind this." He rubbed his head. "They listed the achievements we're credited with, which somehow include the execution of Ozwell Spencer. I'd love to see how they wrote that one up."

After the silence following that statement had stretched on too long for comfort, Claire said, "In light of what happened, I think Terra Save will let me stay here to help."

Chris looked like he wanted to say something about that, but then the phone rang, and he ran to answer it. It was hard to make out exactly what he was saying from the other room, but the tone of his voice indicated it was good news. When he returned, he looked like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Your relatives are safe, Jill. They're on the line, if you want to talk to them."

She sprang up, nearly knocking him over in her haste to get to the phone.

"We should all try to get some sleep soon," he said quietly, taking up the place where she had been sitting. "I prepared your usual room for your visit, Claire. Listen, you won't mind if Jill stays there too, will you?"

"Of course not," she said. The upstairs was small, consisting of a long hallway that led to two bedrooms and a bathroom, but he always kept the second room ready for her when she visited. He had inexplicably gotten a bunk bed for the room when he was furnishing the house, so it wouldn't even be any extra effort. She smiled. "We get along fine, you know that."

He tried to smile and didn't quite manage it. "I don't think splitting up tonight is a good idea, and I can't imagine she'd want to be alone tonight, anyway. I can't just ask her to sleep on the couch, although she does that whenever she shows up in the middle of the night." He stopped, looking awkward, as though this wasn't something he wanted to go into.

Claire decided it would be a bad time to tease him by suggesting that Jill share _his_ room, although she did wonder if they were ever going to admit that their feelings for each other went beyond just friendship. She reached over and patted his arm reassuringly. "You worry too much. We'll be fine."

_Or as fine as we can be, under the circumstances._

xXx

Jill seemed almost as worried about the setup as Chris had been, and the anxiety was starting to rub off on Claire. Then again, it might have been because Jill kept looking around as though appraising the bedroom for threats. She was wearing blue pajamas and had taken her hair out of its ponytail, but she didn't look any more relaxed than she had in the living room.

"You can have whichever bunk you want," Claire said, adjusting her red pajama top and resisting the urge to glance around nervously herself. "It doesn't matter to me."

"Thanks." She finally stopped looking around the room and climbed up the short ladder leading to the top bunk. "I really appreciate this, you know."

"It's nothing. What are friends for?" She yawned, more than ready to go to sleep. There really was no chance of being attacked in the night. Not only had they kept their weapons nearby, but she also knew that her brother had a good security system. The alarms might go off if anyone so much as thought of breaking in. The only danger then would be the house itself; the full design of his security system reminded her of something out of a spy show. She crawled into the bottom bunk and pulled the blankets over herself. "The light switch is up by you."

"I sometimes have nightmares, you know. Just…just so you know." Jill said this all very quickly, sounding as though she had been almost afraid to.

_Is this what all the worry is about?_

"I understand," she said. "Don't worry about it."

Only after that did Jill turn off the light, and despite her worries, the remainder of the night passed quietly and uneventfully.

xXx

The next morning, all of the news stations were covering the attacks, referring to the crisis as "bioterrorism on an unprecedented scale." They had footage from several of the attacks, most of which cut off partway through in a spray of blood as the person filming was attacked. The President was giving a speech, as were leaders of other nations, trying to bolster the courage of everyone affected. Breakfast was a somber affair, as they ate in front of the television, watching sobbing friends of the attacks' targets talk about the innocence of the people in question.

That was what seemed to have terrified people the most. From the current reports, only a few people who had been targeted had committed any evil acts. The majority simply had been related to those who had.

Claire sat in the chair alongside the couch, as the position of the other chair made it difficult to see the television. Jill and Chris were sitting together on the couch, watching the news grimly. Although the news footage was depressing and graphic, it seemed like a crime to turn it off and pretend it hadn't happened. The three of them had all dressed normally for the day, in casual clothes, although they all had weapons close at hand.

When a knock came at the door, Claire jumped up to answer it, more than glad to have a reason to escape the distorted recording of a man and woman being gunned down as they tried to escape their house through the upstairs window. With the layout of Chris's house, the front door was in a small area just off the kitchen. From there one could walk across the welcome mat and past the stairs to the basement, pass the closet of weapons and equipment, and enter the kitchen proper, which had inviting blue walls, a large window overlooking the sink, and a small oven connected to the lightly tinted counters.

"Who is it?" she called, when she reached the door.

"Sheva," the reply came. She recognized the voice from the telephone and opened the door to let her in. The woman looked at her for a moment and then smiled. "You must be Claire." She looked very official in her uniform, but her smile was warm.

"Yes," she said, shaking her hand. "It's good to finally meet you. Chris and Jill are watching the news."

As they walked towards the living room, Sheva asked, "Are you going to be around to help us with the investigation?"

"I think so," she replied. She had only packed enough clothes for a short visit, but she had already been making plans for what could easily become a prolonged stay. She blinked as she realized what pronoun she had used. "Us? You're going to be helping us, too?"

"I know it seems a little out of my way," she said with a laugh, as she was normally stationed at the B.S.A.A.'s West African branch. "However, we wanted some of our top agents working on this. Since Chris and Jill will be working from here, I've been sent here as well."

They had reached the living room by the time she finished talking, and Chris looked up, having caught the end of that. "So the three of us are partners for this?"

"It will end up being more of a team."

Claire sat back down in the chair she had been sitting in before, and Sheva took the other chair. Chris turned off the television and its depressing news.

"Carlos and his family are fine," Sheva said. "They were in hiding by the time we found them, since by then word was starting to get out about who was being attacked. Josh is protecting them, the Burtons, and the Valentines at an undisclosed location."

Jill let out a sigh of relief.

"Are they expecting more attacks?" Claire asked.

"We don't know what to expect. Everyone is on edge, and people have been saying that we—the B.S.A.A.—are going to be attacked next, before we can cause trouble. We have to move quickly to discover who is behind this."

"You said we were going to end up as a team, not as partners," Chris said. "Does that mean that more people are coming to help?"

She nodded. "The United States government is sending one of their own agents to assist us this time. I believe you know him—Leon S. Kennedy?"

Claire smiled. Leon was a good guy, and a good ally to have in times like this. She wished they weren't always meeting under dark circumstances. It was only a few times, in the peace of the past two years, that they had gotten to talk just as friends.

"Also, the B.S.A.A. is sending Kirsty Anderson to help. Both should arrive within the next few days."

Chris frowned. "Kirsty Anderson? I don't think we've ever met. Who is she?"

"I've only met her once. Apparently she is a non-combatant, spending her time with the B.S.A.A. analyzing data and searching for patterns in the bioterrorists' operations. Most of her work was with data from the past, since she's only been a member for a couple of years. However, they think she'll be able to help us."

Claire jumped as a loud knock came at the door. "Hey guys!" a familiar voice shouted. "Come on, let me in!"

"Is that Barry?" Jill asked, raising her eyebrows as she went to answer the door. She returned within moments with Barry Burton, who was wearing a red T-shirt and looking happy to see everyone.

"Barry?" Chris asked. He sounded bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

"This is terrible," Barry said, leaning against the wall since there were no more seats readily available. He glanced into the dining room and then left momentarily, dragging a chair behind him when he returned. He sat down and continued, "All those people being killed, and my family in danger again…it's really terrible. Canada was safer for us, but I really thought it all was over when you guys got back from Africa! Anyway, I'm here to help!"

"We all thought you'd be with your family," Claire said, since he kept looking at them all with a confused look on his face, as though he wasn't sure why they were surprised to see him.

He bowed his head. "I want to be with them…but even more, I want the world to be safe for them. So if there's anything I can do to make that possible, I'm going to do it!"

"Welcome to the team," Sheva said.

xXx

Eventually, word came that both of their remaining team members would be arriving in two days. Getting the group together wasn't hard, since Jill had continued to spend the night with them, Barry lived right in town, and Sheva was staying at the hotel. Chris converted the dining room into a meeting hall, which mainly meant he had made sure there were seven chairs at the table, along with paper and pencils in case anyone wanted to take notes.

Barry had taken it upon himself to provide food for the meeting, which had led to a quiet argument between him and Jill over whether or not it was appropriate to be eating popcorn at a meeting about bioterrorist attacks. It somehow had ended with him agreeing to make cookies instead, and Chris just shook his head when he walked past the kitchen. Watching them, Claire wondered if she was seeing some ghostly remnant of the way the old S.T.A.R.S. team had operated.

Leon arrived first, wearing a leather jacket over his white shirt. He nodded to Claire when he saw her. "Once again, I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

"Regardless, we're glad to have you on board," Chris said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You've met Jill, right?"

"Once, I think," he said, shaking her hand. He looked around. "I've met Sheva. And you must be…?"

"Barry." He took off his oven mitts and shook Leon's hand. "I'm making cookies."

"I'm sure that'll lighten up the meeting."

Claire grinned at the look on Barry's face. He couldn't seem to decide if Leon was being sarcastic or serious. Then it was back to waiting, since they had agreed not to make any plans until they knew what sort of information Kirsty Anderson was bringing.

After they had waited for about twenty minutes, a knock came at the door, along with a voice calling, "Is anyone there? It's me, Kirsty!"

"I'll get it," Sheva said, heading for the door. "I was introduced to her before I came here so I would know if it's really her or if it's an imposter."

"Boy this is intense," Barry commented, heading into the kitchen to check on his cookies. The rest of them followed, waiting tensely and watching the door to see what would happen.

Sheva stepped away from the door to let in a tall woman. The newcomer had blonde hair, mostly pulled up, but with several long braids hanging down her back. Her dark eyes looked out at them with a gaze that seemed much older than the rest of her, not an uncommon thing for members of the B.S.A.A., especially in times like this. She was wearing a blue dress and was clutching a notebook to her chest.

"This is Kirsty Anderson," Sheva said, "the newest member of our team."

Chris stepped forward, holding out his hand. "I'm Chris Redfield. It's good to meet you."

"Same," she said faintly, shaking his hand and looking terrified.

He looked slightly hurt by this reaction, but her intimidated expression remained as she was introduced to each one of them in turn. Claire smiled warmly as she shook her hand, hoping to relax her. "I'm Claire Redfield. I'm with Terra Save."

"Oh. I'm Kirsty, I'm with the B.S.A.A. Oh, but you already know that."

"Let's go sit down," Chris said, breaking the awkward silence that followed the introductions. He led the way to the dining room, and everyone followed to take their seats. He sat down at the end of the table, and Jill sat down beside him. Claire sat down on his other side, and Leon sat beside her. "We were told that you've been studying patterns in these sorts of attacks, Kirsty, so we were hoping you could start the meeting by telling us if you have any ideas about who is behind this recent disaster."

"Oh." She stared at him, faltering in the doorway. She clutched her notebook even tighter.

Barry plopped into the chair next to Jill and whispered, "Well, this is going well. Do you think the cookies would help?"

Sheva sat down beside him and gave him a look.

"All right, we'll save the cookies for later," he mumbled.

The main feature of the dining room was the mahogany table, with its polished surface and the set of sleek chairs placed around it. A tall, closed china cabinet sat against the far wall, next to the staircase that curved upwards to the second floor. On the opposite wall, a window looked out into the yard. The remaining walls were taken up by the arching entrance to the living room and the smaller door leading to the kitchen.

Kirsty sat down next to Leon and flipped through her notebook rapidly. "Well, um… I don't have anything definite… Um… I wouldn't want to…make baseless conjectures…or offend anyone… Um…"

"Believe it or not, we aren't going to bite you," Leon muttered.

She jumped and frowned at him. Then she looked back at her notebook and seemed to calm down. "Well… This was such a large attack that it couldn't be a small group. It was widespread, coordinated, and involved a lot of resources. Therefore, I suspect the Organization is responsible."

"The Organization?" Chris asked.

"The people Ada worked for," Leon said quietly. Claire glanced at him, seeing a shadow pass across his face. She knew he cared about Ada and still hoped he would find her again someday. It would kill him if she were involved in this.

Kirsty was staring at Chris with a puzzled expression on her face. "Yes, the Organization. Um… Your…your S.T.A.R.S. captain worked for them, didn't he?"

Chris stiffened, and a vein in his cheek twitched. "Please do not refer to that man as my S.T.A.R.S. captain," he said, staring down at the table with a rather intense look in his eyes.

She squeaked and shrunk back. "Sorry! I'm sorry!" She busied herself flipping through her notebook pages again, and suddenly she gasped. "Oh! He was—I mean, that stuff in Africa… Sorry." She let out a nervous laugh and stared fixedly at the table.

"It's all right," Chris sighed. "I'm not angry. So, Wesker worked for the group that you think is behind this now."

"That would explain the H.C.F.'s involvement," Jill said. "He must have left them with the Organization."

"Yes, so…" He blinked. "Kirsty? What is it?"

Claire looked over and saw that the woman was staring at him with her mouth hanging open. She also couldn't help but notice that Leon was now holding his head as though he had a headache.

"You…you said your name is Chris Redfield. You're _that_ Chris Redfield! The one who went to Africa and stopped the Uroboros Project!" Her eyes were shining. "You're the bravest man in the B.S.A.A… You're a hero!"

He stared at her and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn't seem to know how to respond.

Kirsty looked around at the rest of them. Now she was almost bouncing in her seat from excitement. "You…were all of you there, fighting in Africa?" She glanced at Leon.

"No," he said quickly. "Now, can we please—"

"And you?"

Realizing she was being addressed, Claire blinked at her in surprise. "No…"

"I wasn't either," Barry said. "I was home."

"I was Chris's partner," Sheva said. She looked as anxious as Leon to change the subject, and Claire suddenly understood why. "About the Organization—"

"What about you?" Kirsty asked, looking at Jill. "Were you in Africa?"

Jill didn't answer, but just stared straight ahead, and Barry leaped to his feet. "I think I better go check on my cookies!" he yelled loudly.

Chris leaned forward and looked Kirsty in the eye. "Jill was undercover in Africa." Claire recognized his tone as being one to indicate that the conversation was definitely over, but Kirsty didn't pick up on that.

"Undercover?" she asked, looking even more awestruck than she had a moment ago. "You mean like James Bond?"

Leon looked up. "We're handling an international crisis here! We don't have time to talk about whether or not Jill is like James Bond!"

She lowered her head. "Sorry…"

Jill looked over at him and mouthed, "Thank you." Leon nodded, and Claire indicated Kirsty and shrugged to show that she didn't know what to make of her, either. That got a slight smile, at least, and Barry cautiously sat back down.

"The Organization does sound like a likely candidate for being behind an attack like this," Sheva said. "They helped to bring Umbrella down, correct?"

"Correct."

Chris leaned back in his chair and rubbed his head. "And now they decided to finish the job completely? What is the point? How does it benefit them to attack these people?"

"Maybe they were afraid they knew information about them," Jill suggested.

"Or maybe," Leon said, "they decided to increase their power and wanted to eliminate anyone with the slightest chance of being an opponent."

"Either way, we're almost certainly their next target," Sheva said, looking grim. "They have to know we'll try to find them and stop them."

"It would help if we had any way of finding out who they are," Chris muttered. "As it is, we're starting from nothing."

A dark silence fell over the meeting, and Barry took the opportunity to leave and then return with the cookies. Everyone politely accepted one, but Claire knew she wasn't the only one who barely tasted it. Chris was right. At least with Umbrella, they had known the company responsible and some of their members. Again when she had opposed WilPharma with Terra Save, they had had an idea of who they were dealing with. When Chris went to Africa, he was tracking down Ricardo Irving. Here, however, their only leads were a dead man and his private army, which had vanished from their radar even more completely than the mysterious Organization itself.

And Ada Wong.

She glanced at Leon, not wanting to be the one to suggest it. Even if they could track down the spy, it was unlikely she would lead them to her employers.

"I…" Kirsty cleared her throat and tried again. "I've been studying the Organization for some time, you know, trying to track their movements, looking at data to see where their resources could be coming from, analyzing their apparent influence…and I do have a theory that makes them more than just a phantom organization. You won't like it, though."

"What is it?" Chris asked. When she hesitated, he said, "Even an unpleasant theory is better than nothing. Go ahead."

"My research has indicated that the Organization is not a group operating completely from the shadows after all, but just the darker side of a known organization." She fiddled with her notebook, looking uncomfortable. "Their reach, influence, resources, and even some of their past goals match those of the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium." She looked up. "I believe the Organization and the G.P.C. are one and the same."

Silence greeted that statement, until Chris shook his head. "Impossible."

"Why is it impossible?" she asked. "Do you have proof to the contrary?"

"The Global Pharmaceutical Consortium funds the B.S.A.A. They hated what some of their companies were involved in. They helped bring them down; they helped us wipe out Uroboros!"

Kirsty narrowed her eyes and gripped her notebook tightly, seeming to find strength in presenting her theory. "Yes, the G.P.C. couldn't wait to be rid of Umbrella, could they? I believe they provided the courts with evidence against them. Of course, the Organization was trying to bring them down as well. Wasn't it Albert Wesker whose testimony destroyed Umbrella?"

Chris hit the table and then put his head in his hands. "We can't be being funded by the Organization. We just can't be."

"Can we afford to take that chance?" Jill asked quietly. "If their influence extends to the B.S.A.A. itself, we could be in even more danger than we thought."

Claire suppressed a shiver at the thought. The Consortium was the sort of group that would be able to coordinate an attack across the globe. And if they didn't want to be found, the correct information might never make it to a group they were funding. It made the likelihood of traitors that much greater. The Organization could own top members of the B.S.A.A., and no one would know until it was too late.

"All right," Chris finally said. "We'll look into the G.P.C. We should be able to set up a meeting with one of their representatives to discuss what happened. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary, and it would give us the chance to look for anything suspicious. In the meantime, we'll follow any leads that we can. We need to find who's controlling the Plagas, for one thing, and it might be possible to trace some of the attacks backwards to their source."

And with that, the meeting ended. Looking around the room, Claire could tell that everyone else was as worried as she was.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Just in case anyone is inclined to take it the wrong way, I meant no offense to anyone with the initial accusations put forth by various countries. Also, I've been trying hard to actually describe the layout of settings, rather than bring up architecture when it becomes plot-relevant. If you noticed anything awkward or amiss in my descriptions here, please let me know. As always, your reviews are loved.<em>


	4. Chapter 4: The Warehouse

Chapter 4: The Warehouse

"Well, this is it," Leon said, gesturing to the building in front of them. The outside was nondescript, with peeling white paint and two windows so covered with dust and grime that it was impossible to see inside. Two more windows sat high above, for the building had two stories. Nothing but pine trees could be seen in the surrounding area, as the warehouse had been erected for a company that had gone out of business before ever making it there.

Jill looked at it skeptically. They had contacted the people who had witnessed the start of the attack in their areas, trying to trace those who were responsible. This had been the closest site with such information, and thus the easiest to investigate, in northern Pennsylvania. From witness accounts and tracks, the local police had determined that a man—wearing an H.C.F. uniform and carrying a syringe of the T-virus—had come out of this forest to head for the town, where he proceeded to the target's location and infected himself.

They had searched the forest and found nothing out of the ordinary, and there was too much brush on the ground to hope that any footprints remained. However, a few bent branches and some disturbance of the undergrowth had led them here, supporting the theory that the attack had been staged from this, the only structure within the forest.

It made her uneasy. She didn't believe that the H.C.F., or anyone capable of coordinating such an attack, would have left any clues behind in the abandoned warehouse, unless they wanted to be found.

"Is everyone ready?" Chris asked. He seemed to have calmed down about the possibility of the G.P.C. being the Organization, accepting it as just another possible betrayal they had to confront.

Jill checked to make sure her guns were loaded and within reach and nodded, as did Sheva. Leon was already standing by the warehouse doors. It was just the four of them on this mission. Claire was going to spend the day helping the survivors of the attack in their own town, and Kirsty would be useless in a fight. Barry had volunteered to stay behind as an extra line of defense in case anything happened while they were split up.

Leon pushed the door open, standing by with his gun ready. It opened easily, creaking open onto musty darkness. Nothing happened, and the four of them headed into the building. The light shining through the door showed a wide, dusty room filled with boxes, most likely those intended for the defunct company. In the corner, a rickety-looking wooden staircase led up to the second floor. Each step raised a cloud of dust, and spiders crawled up webs everywhere, some of which stretched from ceiling to floor.

"I think that guy just ran around outside to trick us," Chris muttered, as the building creaked ominously. "It doesn't look like anyone's been in here since the place was built."

Jill looked around. Despite its apparent abandonment, there was something threatening about the warehouse. While walking forward, she kept thinking she saw movement in her peripheral vision, only to turn and see nothing at all. A noise that was probably the wind kept catching her attention, sounding almost like someone or something breathing. The hair on the back of her neck prickled with the sensation that she was being watched, but when she turned, nothing was there.

_Hypervigilance_, she told herself, trying to calm down. _That's all it is. There's nothing there._ Yet it was hard to feel confident of such things in a building that a member of the H.C.F. had used to hide out in before unleashing the T-virus on innocent people.

As they got further away from the door and the light it provided, they all turned on their flashlights. The dust on the floor got thicker as they went, as though the floor by the entrance had been more recently walked on or cleaned. The wind whistled through gaps in the walls again, blowing dust in their faces. As Jill suppressed the urge to sneeze, something began thumping on the outside of the building.

She turned her flashlight in the direction of the noise, trying to see if anything was there. It quieted, but then she could hear an underlying scraping.

"It's the trees," Leon said, his voice sounding too loud. "The wind is causing them to hit the side of the building."

"Let's hope we encounter nothing more threatening than that," Chris said, and they continued forward.

They had gone a few more feet into the warehouse, passing tower of boxes after tower of boxes, with no clear idea of what they were supposed to be looking for, when Sheva stopped. She was pointing her flashlight at the floor beside her. "Look!"

Clearly visible in the layer of dust and dirt, footprints led off to the right.

"There weren't any footprints near the door," Jill said, thinking about how the floor had seemed cleaner there, as well. "Either they flew part of the way, or they only cleaned some of their tracks."

"And the footprints are leading into the warehouse, not out," Leon added. In the dim light, he looked grim, almost brooding. "This looks like a trap. Then again, our only other option is to go home."

"It's harder to spring a trap if you're expecting it," Chris said. "Everyone be on your guard."

They followed the footprints in silence, still encountering nothing worse than cobwebs and the sound of the wind. None of them relaxed, however, mindful of the suspicious circumstances. At every unexpected sound, Jill turned to look, and for once she wasn't the only one.

The prints continued to the foot of the stairs, and the four of them stopped and looked up. It was a freestanding staircase, twisting near the ceiling to reach the second floor, and the steps were attached to one another only at the edges. The lone railing was splintered and broken in sections.

"I'll go first to test it," Chris said, once they had all stared at the staircase in dismay for several seconds. He studied it and then put his foot on the first step. It held, and he began to climb up. It creaked and bent alarmingly when he neared the ceiling, but he made it to the top without any mishaps.

Leon gave it a suspicious look—particularly that upper portion, which was still bent from Chris's progress—and then started up. He stopped a few steps short of that section and then proceeded more cautiously. One of the steps cracked when he stepped on it, but it remained mostly intact. He tightened his grip on the railing, and a new piece splintered off. By the time he made it to the second floor, the staircase looked worse than ever.

Jill exchanged a doubtful look with Sheva and then began to climb the stairs. She tried to hold the railing lightly, not wanting to break it any further. The steps seemed even more rickety now that she was the one on them, and she had to fight the urge to simply run to get past them faster. When she reached the tricky set of stairs, she stopped. The step she was standing on creaked.

She glanced down. Sheva gave her an encouraging smile, but it didn't help. Either she was imagining things, or the staircase was wobbling slightly. This didn't seem like the best of positions to be in, but on the other hand, it wasn't that bad compared to other things she had been through.

Looking up again and steeling herself, she continued to climb. It went well until she reached the broken step. A loud crack came from beneath her foot, and as she quickly took her weight off of it, she heard the entire staircase creaking. Then she was falling through the air, reaching out desperately and finding nothing to grab. She hit the ground hard as bits of the staircase fell all around her.

"Jill!" She sat up as Sheva ran over to her, pushing pieces of fallen wood out of the way. "Are you all right?"

Up above, she could here Chris and Leon shouting, wanting to know what had happened and if she was hurt.

"I'm fine!" she assured them, shouting so that her words could be heard up on the now-unreachable second floor. "The staircase collapsed."

"You're not hurt?" Chris asked.

Jill got to her feet and dusted herself off. She felt a little shaken, and she knew she was going to be bruised from the landing, but everything else was fine. "I'm fine," she repeated. "Are you two going to be able to get down?"

She saw the top of Chris's head appear, looking down to the ground. "Getting down shouldn't be a problem. We'll finish the investigation first, though."

"This room looks like it's been used recently," Leon reported. "It won't take too long to see if there's anything here."

"We'll look around the rest of this floor," Sheva suggested, with a nod to Jill.

They left the staircase and the trail of footprints, shining their flashlights in front of them as they moved to the unexplored corners of the warehouse. Jill inspected one of the boxes; it was an unmarked crate, with the outside giving no hint as to what the building had been supposed to store. They towered too high for one person to reach on their own, and she doubted it was relevant anyway.

The arrangement of the boxes made the first floor like a twisting labyrinth, and Jill kept glancing over her shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that they were being herded, led along this path deliberately. Here and there she could see piles of dust on the floor, as well as spots that were mysteriously clean, as though the boxes in the room had been rearranged recently. The boxes got closer together the further they went, forcing them to walk in single file. She began to feel sure that when they reached the end, they would find something important, or something dreadful.

"What is it?" Jill asked, when Sheva stopped in front of her.

"A dead end."

"That's it? There's nothing there?" She looked over her shoulder, thinking that another reason for luring them down such a narrow path would be to trap them in tight quarters.

"Wait… There's something up there." Sheva moved to the side, squeezing back against the crates so that Jill could see what the flashlight's beam revealed.

The wall rose up smoothly, but about six feet up it dipped back, forming an alcove. The area was dark, but what little light reached it reflected back from two pinpricks, glimmering in the shadows and looking like nothing so much as a pair of fiery eyes.

They stood there, motionless, watching. The eyes didn't move, except when the flashlight wavered, throwing its beam up at different angles. There was no choice now but to go up and investigate…or to leave, turning their backs to whatever might be lurking above.

"Someone's playing mind games with us," Jill muttered out loud.

Sheva sighed and turned off her flashlight, putting it away so that she could get out her gun and still have one hand free. "Shine the light so that I can see to get up there."

Jill aimed her light for the alcove, readying herself to leap up after her if there was trouble. Sheva backed up towards her and then ran towards the wall, jumping and grabbing the ledge. She pulled herself up until she could barely be seen from down below.

"What is it?"

"It's just a skeleton. Someone put jewels in its eyes; that's what your light is reflecting back."

"Why is it up there?" Jill asked. _And why did someone go through the trouble of making a path to it and putting jewels in its eyes?_ "Do you think someone was trying to hide it, or did they want it to be found?"

"I don't know," she called back. "Wait, it's holding something! Let me—"

The rest of her words were lost to Jill as the floor shook and a crevasse opened beneath her feet, sending her tumbling. The flashlight fell from her grip, disappearing into the darkness below. She reached out to grab the edge of the floor, but pulled her hands back as she saw the towers of boxes falling for her. She folded her body as she dropped, going into a roll when she hit the ground below. She could hear pieces of the floor above and the boxes crashing into the ground behind her. The impact jarred her, but when she stopped rolling, she took a deep breath and knew she had escaped injury once again.

She got up and looked around, blinking as she tried to adjust to the dark. While falling, she had thought she was entering some sort of cavern, but now it looked like a man-made structure. Other than the mountain of debris that blocked her passage back, the walls were smooth and had sharp corners. She could see the outline of a door off to her right.

"Jill!" Sheva's voice was coming distantly from above the pile of rubble. "Jill, answer me!"

"I'm okay!" she shouted up, wondering if it was just going to be one of those days. "Everything's blocked, though. I don't think I can get through."

"I'm so sorry!" She sounded distraught. "When I moved the skeleton's hand, it triggered some sort of explosion. It was a trap, intended to catch anyone who remained on the ground!"

"It wasn't your fault," she said, although her stomach lurched with the knowledge that they had been tricked. _A booby-trapped skeleton? Did they kill one of their own, or was it an innocent bystander who died for this? Did they just dig up someone's grave?_ She suddenly felt sure that the entire thing was a trap for them. That was why the H.C.F. man had been seen and why only some of the tracks were hidden. Anything they found in this warehouse had been set up in advance for them.

"We'll get you out of there!"

"Wait a minute," she said, giving the blocked crevasse a skeptical look. "Digging me out will take forever. There are rooms down here. There has to be an exit somewhere. I'll find my way out and then come back."

"Well…all right. Be careful!" Sheva urged.

"I will be." She got out her gun and wished the flashlight hadn't been crushed. "You stay alert, too. There's no telling what might happen."

"Good luck, Jill."

"Thanks."

She opened the door and stepped through to the next room. There was very little in it, just a desk and another door. She started towards the door and then stopped, looking at the desk. Even though she was sure this was a trap, she couldn't help but wonder why there was a structure beneath the warehouse. If there were any papers on the desk, they might provide a clue.

She walked over to the desk, but there was nothing on it except a layer of dust. There was, however, a drawer. She gave it a tug, and to her surprise, it opened easily. A flashlight rolled to the front, and she grabbed it. She pressed the button with little hope, and it flickered on, casting dim light in front of her.

Frowning, she saw that something had been scratched onto the inside of the drawer. Focusing the flashlight beam on it, she saw that they were words.

FOR YOU

As simple a message as it was, she glanced at the flashlight in her hand and then back to the writing, feeling the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She turned around quickly, but the room was still empty.

_They had to have set up something like this well in advance,_ she reasoned, closing the drawer. Still, now that the idea of being watched was in her mind, she couldn't get it to go away entirely. Worse yet, she could find no convenient way to carry both her gun and the flashlight and still be able to open doors, so she put the gun away and hoped she'd be fast enough to grab it if necessary.

Delivered with a creepy message or not, the flashlight provided much-needed light, and she shone it in front of her as she continued into the next room. This one was even more nondescript than the first, with only a sentinel-like statue beside the door breaking up the emptiness.

She walked over to the door, shining the light on the statue out of curiosity. It was an ugly thing, carved in the shape of a massive serpent. Baleful eyes glittered red when the light touched them, something inside causing the light to reflect much like with the skeleton above. Someone had taken the time to polish the massive fangs until they gleamed, although only the tops were visible, as the statue was sinking them into its own tail.

Something tugged at the back of her mind, but she turned her attention to the door instead. It was smooth and seamless, with no doorknob, lock, or any other indication of how it might be opened. Unable to believe it was just a dead end, she took a step back and moved the light along the doorframe, looking for anything out of place.

At last she saw it, an indentation near the top of the frame. Studying it more closely, she saw that two holes went further back still. The idea was clearly to put something in there that would cause the door to open.

_Great, whoever designed this place thought like George Trevor and every other architect Umbrella ever hired._

She looked at the door for a while, thinking back to her other experiences in places like this, and then she swung the flashlight to shine on the statue again. The serpent's eyes shone back. Shining the light directly into the eyes, she could now see that the sockets were hollow, with only the glass of the eyes protecting the gems that gave them color.

Jill considered how to best do this, and then finally smashed the glass with the side of her gun. Reaching in while avoiding the broken glass, she found that the sockets were just shallow enough that she could pull out the gems. They were either rubies or imitations, but she didn't care as long as they opened the door.

Once she had both, she returned to the doorframe and pushed them into the indentations. There was a _click_ when the second one was in place, and then the door slid open onto a hallway.

The hallway was narrow and formed a T. When she reached the intersection, she looked to her right and saw another featureless door. To her left, she saw a panel with a button beside it. After taking a closer look at each area, she returned to the left-side panel. There was no way she could see to get through the right door, and the button on the left at least gave her something to try.

Checking once more to make sure her gun was close at hand, she pressed the button. The panel lifted, and she heard the quiet hum of the door behind her sliding up as well. Behind the panel was a platform, opening onto a room beyond it, but someone had chiseled a message into the platform itself.

DON'T LOOK BEHIND YOU

At the same time that she started to turn her head, she heard a soft growling. Whirling around, Jill saw that the supposed door had opened onto a box, from which a dog was stalking. Black except for the gruesome spots where its fur and flesh had been torn away, it was recognizably a Cerberus, a Doberman infected with the T-virus. This one, however, looked worst than most, with scabbed gashes where its eyes should have been and thick scar tissue running along what flesh it still had. Its growls were mixed with a pathetic whine; it was blind and seemed half-mad from confinement as it noticed her presence and charged towards her.

Grabbing her gun, Jill shot it, but it didn't seem to care. A yelp escaped it with each shot, but it continued forward, slavering and snapping. With no room to maneuver, her only choice was to back into the platform and into the next room. It was a tight fit, and as she pushed herself back and pulled her feet up, the dog leaped for her leg.

She kicked it away and it lunged again, strong jaws just inches away. She had a sudden image of herself maimed, dragging a bloodied and useless leg behind her while trying to find a way out of this facility. She shot at the dog again, albeit from an awkward angle due to being part way to the next room. It was a glancing blow, but the distraction was enough to let her scramble backwards the rest of the way and fall off the platform onto the floor of the room.

The dog thrust its head into the opening, whining and straining, but the rest of it wouldn't fit. It was stuck on the other side.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jill turned around to see where she was now, trying to ignore the piteous wails of the monster that had tried to kill her. This room, too, was mostly empty, and she was starting to think the structure had no original purpose after all. She could see devices on the ceiling, with lines running from them through the walls, as though intended to supply electricity to something. Further along the wall to her left, she could see something—another message, perhaps. Across from it, she could see a dark heap, but she was too far to make out what it was. From what she could tell with her dim light, the door at the other end of the room was perfectly normal.

She started walking cautiously, prepared for anything after the last area's surprise. She could still hear the dog crying behind her. Either it had simply been abused and neglected, or someone had specifically planned it as a deathtrap for the next person to trigger the door's opening.

_Am I just being paranoid?_ she couldn't help but wonder.

She was halfway across the room, nearing the marked section of the wall, when her light suddenly went out, leaving her in complete darkness. Before she could do anything more than tighten her grip on her gun, the devices on the ceiling flared red, and candles concealed in the floor along the wall burst into flame.

In the eerie, flickering candlelight, she read the message on the wall. It had been written in huge letters, stretching from the ceiling to the floor, and it looked unpleasantly as though it had been written in blood.

DON'T YOU KNOW YOU  
>ARE HEADING FOR A TRAP<p>

"A trap set up by you, no doubt," she said to the mysterious message writer, although another thought had occurred to her. What if someone else had gotten trapped down here?

Turning around, she shone the light on the dark heap she had noticed earlier and saw that it wasn't a bundle at all. It was a corpse, crumpled against the wall. A long gash going through its sleeve and arm gave a pretty good indication of whose blood was on the wall. She started to take a step closer and then stopped. She didn't need a better look to know that the corpse's black outfit was a uniform.

_What's going on here?_

She discarded the useless flashlight and ran to the end of the room, thinking that she would have preferred being in darkness to having her path lit by those spooky candles. Shadows wavered when she opened the door, and she left that room behind with a feeling of relief.

When she saw where she was, she nearly turned back, candles and corpse or not.

This was the only room that looked like it might have once served a functional purpose. Fluid-filled tanks—giant test tubes, cryostasis pods, whatever else one might call them—filled the room. She counted at least ten, all empty, but she knew that people could be put in them and preserved. _She_ had been put in a tank like that, and she could still remember it.

The dead man outside suddenly seemed less like a victim and more like a guard, like the men who had always been there to watch her when she was awake and fight her every time she realized she was conscious. She could still see the stormy eyes of the one she had most often seen. She had briefly fought alongside him and his subordinates once Wesker had stabilized the P30 drug. He had been coldhearted and cruel, fanatically devoted to Wesker and possibly as crazy, showing her no compassion during her imprisonment.

She looked around, suddenly panicked, feeling the need to escape. Her heart was pounding and the room tilted around her as she tried to cross the room to the door. She gasped, unable to breathe, and the world faded in and out of focus. The fear that she might be incapacitated here, underground, with no one around to find her, was suddenly so great that she forced her way across the room and fell against the door, choking and gasping.

Her fingers were tingling, but she reached for the doorknob anyway. There wasn't one. Crying out in frustration, she rested her head against the cool door and tried to calm down. She couldn't get out of here if she was panicking.

_Weak. I'm weak because of this._

And yet Chris thought she was strong, even knowing what reminders of the past did to her.

Forcing herself to turn around and face the room—and the memories—again, she saw that the tubes weren't the only things in the room. Against one wall, there was a control panel, with four levers and two screens. She walked over to it, hoping that it would open the door. After studying the machine for a moment, she put away her gun and hit a button with the symbol for power on it, and the machine roared and came to life.

_No lights down here, but this thing works just fine._

The first screen flickered on and displayed three buckets, each with an _8 _printed in the center. They seemed to be connected to some complicated machinery, which then connected to an image of an open door. The second screen came on as well, and she saw that it displayed four buckets. The first one had a _24_ on it.

Jill glanced between the two displays, feeling her heart rate slow now that she had something to focus on. She guessed that she had to get the second screen to display the same sort of setup with the buckets that the first one showed. Experimenting with the levers, she saw that each one corresponded to a bucket, and that by selecting two at once, she could choose to transfer the units—most likely supposed to be water, in this sort of puzzle—from one to the other.

It seemed too easy, so she wasn't surprised that when she tried to fill one of the buckets, it reached _5_ and then stopped. Refilling the first bucket to try the others, she learned that in addition to the one that capped out at five, she also had an _11_ and a _13._ Getting them all filled with eight units might be tricky, but it was certainly possible.

After trying combinations for a while to get used to the controls and see how this was going to be, she got working on it. She had a few false starts, but then she transferred the contents of the _24 _to the _13_ and saw a way that she could begin to solve it. Taking her now-filled _13_-bucket and using it to fill the _5_, she got one _8._ Pouring those contents into the _11_-bucket, she then moved her _5_ units to the _13_-bucket and then filled it all the way with the contents of the _24_-bucket, which had had eleven units in it since her first transfer. That left it with _3_, and she knew she had it. The full _13_ was transferred to the _5_-bucket, leaving behind an _8_, and then she took that _5_ to the three units in the _24_-bucket.

With an _8_ displayed over every bucket, the screen flashed and sparkled. Then it went dark, and the door slid open. At the same time, however, every one of the cryostasis pods opened, and liquid started rushing into the room. Concealed panels on the wall slid open, and water began pouring out to make it flood faster. They intended to drown whoever opened the door—or electrocute them when the water reached that console.

She looked at it, trying to find a way to stop electricity from reaching it. She couldn't see an easy way, and the water was rising fast. Running for the door before it could get too deep, Jill saw that the door led onto a stairway. Up above, she could see a flicker of what just might have been precious daylight. She started to climb, regretting that there wasn't a way to close the door behind her. The liquid was already approaching the stairwell, threatening to chase her. She wondered if any monsters had been kept in those pods, now free to follow and attack.

She took the stairs at a run, going even faster when the water level started rising behind her. There was a railing, and she clung to it as tightly as she dared, remembering the rickety stairs from up above. Her foot caught on one of the stairs, and when she pulled it free, the entire stairway shifted and flattened, becoming a slide down into the water. Her feet scrabbled at nothing, and she was hanging in the air, kept from falling only by her grip on the railing.

She hung there, wishing she had found a way to cut off the power to the machine. Floating to the top would have been much easier, but she wasn't going to risk it, even with no sign of pursuing creatures. Instead, she took a deep breath and pulled herself onto the railing. Hand over hand, using her feet for added force, she was able to continue climbing. She went as fast as she dared, conscious of the water's progress.

She climbed until her arms started to ache and burn with the effort, and she continued climbing even then. She wanted to shout for help, but without knowing where this came out, she couldn't be sure anyone would be around to hear. She couldn't risk wasting her breath if no help would be coming. She glanced down. The water looked as though it was going faster than her, and so she gritted her teeth and renewed her effort.

Finally, she saw the spot of light widen into an opening, which got bigger and bigger the closer she got. She was almost there. Unfortunately, the water had almost reached her as well—she almost imagined she could feel it lapping against her shoes. She wasn't sure if an electric current could have followed her all this way, and she didn't want to know; thinking about it involved images of her body, dead or unconscious and injured, floating along helplessly.

Dizzy with the strain, she reached daylight and lifted her head out into the forest surrounding the warehouse just as the water reached her. Realizing it was too close, she used one final effort to propel herself up and out, collapsing on the ground. She got to her feet, barely able to breathe, and then she looked at the tunnel she had come from. The water had stopped an inch away from the top.

Catching her breath with difficulty, she looked around and saw the warehouse in the distance. Before the water had been unleashed, the tunnel had probably looked like a giant pit in the ground. She wasn't sure how they could have missed it, unless it had been camouflaged before.

_In which case either something I did opened it up, or someone really _was_ watching us._

Too exhausted to think about it any further, she walked towards the warehouse. For some reason, the forest was a lot noisier than it had been before. The reason for that was soon made apparent, as she got close enough to see the front part of the building. The area was now filled with heavy machinery. From the look of things, the others had decided to dig her out.

"Hey!" she shouted, trying to run. "I'm out! I'm all right!" That was a slight exaggeration, but she didn't want to complicate matters until she stopped their search. "Hey!"

Someone finally noticed her, and the next thing she knew, Chris, Leon, and Sheva were running to her. She waved and then swayed on her feet, glad she didn't have to run anymore.

"All right?" Chris repeated dubiously, when he reached her. She leaned against him for support, not caring if they knew she was on the verge of collapse. They were friends; she trusted them.

"What was down there?" Sheva asked.

She didn't even know how to begin to explain. "A lot of weird stuff," she said finally. "I think it was meant as a deathtrap. What about you? Did any of you find anything?" She hated to think the entire warehouse had been only a dead end.

To her surprise, no one answered right away. Leon pulled out a piece of paper and looked at it. His face was unreadable.

"She's tired," Chris said. "We should talk about this later."

"No," Jill protested, forcing herself to stand upright on her own. "I want to know now. What is it?"

"The second floor was bizarre," Leon said. "There was an area that was blocked off by crates, and we had to use a crane to get to it. When we got back there, though, it just looked like someone had used it as a makeshift barrack, now abandoned. Nothing was there of any note—except this." He gave the paper a final, troubled look and then handed it to her.

She took it and read it. Like the messages that she had found down below, it was very short. Unlike them, this one was signed.

_Preparations are complete.  
><em>_Proceed according to plan.  
><em>_A.W._

* * *

><p><em><em>Author's note: I need to take a moment to thank the "Math Is Fun" website (.com), which was invaluable use to me when it came to that water puzzle. I hope you didn't think I had developed one of those kind on my own.<em>_


	5. Chapter 5: The Survivors

Chapter 5: The Survivors

There hadn't been many survivors of the attack. The tenants of the apartment building had been slaughtered to a man—although Claire was sure that excluded Sherry—either through infection or the gunners outside. The Las Plagas-infected soldiers had killed most of the inhabitants of the surrounding buildings, and they had decimated the police force and B.S.A.A. reinforcements. That said, there still were hospitalized survivors.

Some were members of the B.S.A.A. or the police who had merely been wounded in the battle. Others were civilians who had been caught by stray bullets, or neighbors who had hidden to avoid detection during the soldiers' takeover. Still others were those who had been infected by the T-virus but had caught it in time to suppress it and rush to the hospital.

It was to this quarantined section of the hospital that Claire headed that morning, at about the same time that Jill was traveling towards an abandoned warehouse. It was on the first floor, far from other patients and waiting rooms, and it was in a state of pandemonium. Due to the outbreaks happening all over the world, the vaccine was thinly spread and in high demand. From the shouts she could hear as she approached, many relatives of the infected were convinced they would never see them again, and were trying valiantly to get through the quarantine.

"He's my son! I have to see him before he becomes a zombie!" a woman screamed, throwing herself bodily against one of the distressed guards.

"They'll kill them!" a man was proclaiming loudly to anyone who would listen. Among this panicking lot, that was quite a few. "You think they'll try to cure them? They won't risk the virus being spread, so they'll kill them instead!"

"Where's the head doctor?" someone else yelled. "Get someone in charge out here!"

The shouts were growing in strength and volume, particularly since the rumor that the infected individuals were going to be killed was starting to get out of hand. Claire knew that they were all just very frightened, but her heart also went out to the doctors, nurses, and staff, who were visibly stressed. Whenever someone official came into view, the screams increased, some even being personal attacks or pleas.

"Calm down, everybody calm down!" A stocky, redheaded man in a white coat and carrying a medical bag came out of the blocked-off area—Claire looked at him quickly, heart skipping a beat, even though it was immediately clear that he looked nothing at all like Steve except for the hair color. He waved his hands, trying to get some order. "I'm the head doctor. What exactly is the—whoa!"

As the crowd mobbed the doctor with questions and accusations, Claire decided it was time to do anything. In particular, she wanted to say a word to the rumormonger, who was still shouting about the patients being killed. She marched over to him, pushing through the group until she could tap on his shoulder.

"What exactly are you trying to do?" she demanded, when he turned to her. "Do you want to start a panic?"

He eyed her and then shook his head dismissively. "I have experience in these matters, girl. What are they going to do—are they going to waste this vaccine on nobodies, or will they save it for use on people they deem 'important'? They're doomed, unless we do something."

She raised her eyebrows. "I think I have more experience than you do, actually. I also have more faith in humanity than you."

"And just who are you?" he asked, folding his arms.

"My name's Claire Redfield; I'm a member of Terra Save," she responded calmly.

The group suddenly quieted somewhat, and she looked to see that some of the people who had been threatening physical violence against the doctor were now looking at her. She heard her name being repeated in whispers, and she wasn't sure if they recognized it because of her, or because of her brother. Either way, she realized she had at least some of their attentions.

"This is no time to panic!" she said, raising her voice so that she could be heard over the members of the crowd still talking. She noticed the doctor sneaking out of the danger zone. "In a crisis like this, we have to band together—and that means trusting each other. I know you're worried. We're all worried.. But you can't just barge into a quarantine zone like a mob. If you handle things calmly, you might get answers."

Taking advantage of the momentary calm that followed her speech, she went to the guard and showed him her Terra Save credentials.

"They're letting her through!" someone shouted, and murmurs started running through the crowd.

She turned back towards them and cupped her hands around her mouth to project her voice. "I promise you, when I come back, I'll answer any questions I can _legally_ answer," she shouted, hoping they would have the presence of mind to remember that there were privacy laws in effect for T-virus victims just like any other patient.

"Nicely handled," the doctor said, entering the hallway as well and falling in step with her. "That wasn't the first crazy mob. Lately being the head doctor has meant being the person who gets to be attacked."

"Sorry to hear that," she said, as he directed her to the area where they would find the gowns, masks, and gloves required for entering the T-virus isolation ward. "How _are_ the patients doing, anyway?"

"Despite what the crowd thinks, quite well," he said with a smile. "It's a veritable miracle that the vaccine can be used as an antidote like this. We got the vaccine to all of them in time, and now we're really just monitoring them and keeping them isolated to make sure nothing unexpected happens. We're taking no chances with the T-virus."

"Good to hear."

He held out his hand. "I'm Dr. Albert Jones, by the way."

"Claire Redfield," she replied, shaking his hand and hiding her reaction to him sharing the same first name as their old enemy. It wasn't like it was an uncommon name, after all, and so there was no reason to want to step away.

"By the way," he said, pointing to a door off to the right, "do you see that room?"

She shook away her misgivings and looked. "Yes." It was labeled _Storage_.

"Just in case we should run into an emergency, the T-virus vaccine is kept in there, inside the refrigerator unit with the other vaccines. The container is labeled."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, although she hoped she wouldn't need to use that information.

Once they had suited up, he led her around to visit the patients. Some were more trouble than others. Several of the patients were doing well enough that they no longer had to be isolated from each other, such as the two middle-aged men who gave them sullen glares the minute they entered the room. One began muttering under his breath.

Dr. Jones took their reactions in stride, commenting only, "Good morning Jim, Leroy. You two should be out of here by tomorrow," but it worried Claire that they didn't brighten up at all at the news.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

The man he had called Jim continued muttering under his breath, but the other fixed her with his glare. "I'll tell you what's wrong! Them nurses took away our cards again!"

"Cards?" she repeated blankly.

"Yeah." He folded his arms. "They said there ain't no gambling allowed."

"Whoever heard of a no-gambling rule in a hospital?" the other man interrupted with an annoyed huff of air.

"Yeah!" Leroy agreed. "Weren't no gambling happening anyway! It was just a game! Oh, but try telling them nurses that… They've taken five decks from us since we've been here!"

"You know what I think?" Jim asked. "I bet they've got a secret poker tournament going on in the staff room! Why else would they need five decks of cards?"

Claire was glad her mask was there to hide some of her bewilderment. Not only was it a more trivial complaint than she had initially imagined, but even assuming they had asked for some of their personal belongings to be brought to them… "_Five_ decks of cards?"

"Six," Dr. Jones said.

She turned to look at him, and he offered an apologetic shrug as he reached into his bag and pulled out a deck of cards. He handed it to Jim, who was still muttering about the nurses running secret poker tournaments.

"Knew we could count on you, doc!" the patient said with a grin. He had begun dealing cards before they were even out of the room.

"Don't tell the nurses," Dr. Jones whispered to Claire, as they continued down the hall. "I'd rather keep all of my limbs."

She smiled under her mask and agreed that she would forget all knowledge of who was supplying Jim and Leroy with cards.

Most of the patients, however, were in good spirits, alert and wanting to know when they could leave. They generally accepted the news that they still had to be monitored for a while with more grace than the people outside had. A few were weakened or frightened, and Claire sat beside some of them and gave them news about the outside world while Dr. Jones checked their conditions.

"You're good at this," he commented, as they left the room of an elderly man who had been reassured by the news that the B.S.A.A. was on the job. He seemed to have been an avid follower and supporter of their attempts to stop bioterrorism, and the fact that he was talking to someone who personally knew some of its members—and was related to one of them—had delighted him to no end.

Claire looked at the doctor in surprise. "Having worked for Terra Save for a while now, I'd at least _hope_ I'd know how to handle this sort of thing."

He laughed. "No, that's not what I meant. I was talking about attitude, not competence. We get a lot of people in here who…well, they don't care, not like that. They do their jobs, but on a personal level…eh…"

She nodded. "Yeah, I've met people like that." She couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking about the nurses who kept confiscating the cards.

The next room they visited was that of a little girl, who started crying as soon as they entered. Her face was red and tear-streaked, as though this wasn't a new occurrence. Through the sobs, Claire could make out a few phrases, and knew that she wanted to go home and wanted her mommy.

"Hey, it's going to be all right," she said gently, walking over to the side of her bed. "You'll be out of here before you know it."

The girl looked up and began crying even harder. She turned away, trying to hide her face in her pillow.

"She's afraid of people in masks," Dr. Jones explained. "She's been the trickiest case so far. Last time I tried to take her vital signs, she bit me. I appreciate the need for these suits, now."

Claire raised her eyebrows, and he shrugged and started searching through his medical bag for something. She made several more attempts to comfort the sobbing child, but nothing worked. She wasn't even sure the girl was listening to what she had to say. She wished she could do something, though. The older patients had enough reason to be frightened; she could only imagine what it was like for a child in this situation.

"I came prepared this time," the doctor said. "I brought a puppet show."

She turned towards him. "You…what?" She couldn't help but laugh when he actually did start pulling little puppets out of his bag, although he raised his eyebrows at her as if to say that this was perfectly normal. She wondered if he had made sure she was one of the people who cared before bringing her in here.

"Explaining to the staff what puppets are doing in the decontamination room will be fun," he commented, handing her several. "So, how good are you at improvisation?"

After a few minutes of the—laughably awful, in Claire's opinion—improvised puppet show, the little girl decided that people in surgical masks couldn't be all that bad if they had puppets, and after watching for a while longer, she actually smiled. They continued for several more minutes, making up lines as they went, until Dr. Jones deemed it safe enough to set down his puppets and approach her.

Claire kept the show going, and the little girl let Dr. Jones check her over without looking afraid of him this time. Claire was glad to be doing something to help the survivors of the attack, even if it was in a more unorthodox way than most Terra Save missions.

xXx

When she got back to the house, she could tell at once that something was up. First, there was an extra car parked outside. She recognized it as the one Sheva had used to drive from the hotel and back previously, and she wondered if everyone had come. Second, it was Kirsty who answered the door.

"Claire! Oh good, you're here!"

"Is everything all right?" she asked, following her in and closing the door behind her.

"Everyone's been waiting for you so we can all meet. The others came back and they must have found something. Ooh, Chris is all in a tizzy!" She waggled her hands for emphasis, and Claire stared at her, having never heard her brother described as being "in a tizzy" before.

They hurried into the dining room where everyone else was, and Claire sat down next to Leon, with Kirsty taking the seat across from her. For someone supposedly in a tizzy, Chris looked quite calm. The same could not be said for Leon, who had his head in his hands.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. He didn't answer, which worried her. He had changed in the years since they had first met, becoming grimmer due to the things he'd had to face.

"All right," Chris said. "Our investigation of the warehouse…had mixed results."

"It was a trap," Jill added. "The building was set up with the idea that multiple people were searching it, and was rigged to send at least one of them to a facility underground. It was very unsettling down there, but I couldn't really find anything helpful."

"On the other hand," Chris continued, "we found this note."

He passed it down the table for those of them who hadn't seen it yet. Kirsty glanced at it impassively before pushing it across to Claire.

_Preparations are complete.  
><em>_Proceed according to plan.  
><em>_A.W._

"Now, there are a lot of things this could mean, so we shouldn't jump to conclusions."

Leon, who looked like he had spent every moment since reading the note doing nothing but jump to conclusions, said, "It has to be Ada. She works for the Organization; this attack was set up by the Organization. I just can't believe it's her, though!"

Claire glanced around the table, hoping she wasn't the only one who had thought of Albert Wesker instead of Ada Wong. In theory, he was dead, but that assumption had been proven wrong once before. Chris and Jill certainly looked like they had thought of him. Sheva and Barry were having a whispered conversation confirming that they knew who Ada was. Leon looked like he found this a bit insulting, and he started to defend Ada as being a credible threat, but then he just stopped and shook his head.

"Why don't you believe it's this Ada?" Kirsty asked, leaning towards him.

He looked at her for a few minutes, and then he finally said, "Ada isn't a bad person, deep down. I mean, she does work for the Organization, and she acts like that's all she cares about, but… There's more to her than that. Hurting all those innocent people…she wouldn't do that! And I can't see her commanding those soldiers, either!"

"Then who wrote the note?"

"I don't know, but it couldn't have been her! It…doesn't make any sense!"

"It makes more sense than blaming a ghost," she muttered under her breath. She caught the look that Chris was giving her and quickly looked back at the table.

"Leon may be right," Sheva cut in. "It's possible that this doesn't make sense _and_ isn't intended to. Someone wanted us to find that warehouse. What if they wanted us to find this note?"

"Mind games," Jill said.

Chris sighed. "Well, the point is that we still don't have any real leads. Hopefully that will change tomorrow. A representative from the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium has agreed to meet Jill and me to discuss the attacks and the B.S.A.A. investigation."

"Good." Kirsty jumped to her feet, rather alarming Barry, who was sitting next to her. She stared at Chris and hit her hand against the table. "Expose them. Trap them in their words. Make them _confess_! Find proof that they are the Organization!"

"Or proof that they are not," he reminded her, staring steadily back.

Claire was beginning to wonder what had caused Kirsty to join the B.S.A.A. There were times when she seemed very disconnected from the reality of bioterrorism, almost flighty, and yet at times like this, she seemed to take an intense interest in what they were doing. Unless she volunteered the information, however, Claire didn't think it was right to pry.

Being an informal meeting to start with, it informally adjourned. Leon went to stand by the window, staring outside at nothing, and Claire joined him.

"You okay?"

"Of course," he said. "I've been through worse than this."

She hesitated, feeling bad for him, and then put her hand on his shoulder. He didn't move. "I understand how you feel, you know."

"I don't think you do," he said quietly. "You've never loved an enemy agent."

"I suppose you're right." She bit her lip, staring at his stiff profile. "If it helps, I think you're right about Ada."

He turned to look at her, seeming surprised. "You do?"

"She's helped you, even when it could have cost her life. That's not something a cold, heartless person does."

"No. It's not." He sighed and walked away, and she let him go. Now it was her turn to stare out the window. If Ada was involved, and it came to a confrontation, what would happen? She could imagine anything from Ada helping them again, to a fight to the death.

Kirsty came and stood beside her, looking at her silently for a few moments.

"What is it?" Claire asked, turning towards her.

"I was just curious…but, um… it's a rather personal question, so perhaps I shouldn't…"

"Go ahead," she said, intrigued now.

"You and Mr. Kennedy—um, Leon… Are you and he…together? I mean, as a couple?"

She raised her eyebrows, wondering how anyone could have gotten that impression, especially with Leon's concern over Ada being so close to the surface right now.

Looking flustered, Kirsty continued on, "I mean, you looked so worried about him just now, and I'm new here, so I just thought, maybe… Sorry."

"No, it's all right," she said. She smiled. "He's just a friend, but I guess I don't know how we look to an outsider."

"An outsider." Her voice was dull. "That's what I really am, aren't I? Members of this team came from all over…but I'm the only true outsider."

"Aw, it won't always be that way," Claire said, feeling bad for her. They had only known her for a couple of days; surely she hadn't expected to be a close member of the group that quickly. Then again, some people were like that, making friends easily and being hurt when it took longer.

Kirsty gave a faint smile. "But once you find the Organization…won't I no longer be needed?"

Claire stared at her. "What are you talking about? We don't kick out our friends because they aren't 'useful,' or some nonsense like that."

She laughed. "I guess it is a silly worry, isn't it?"

"You said it."

"Claire?"

"Yes?"

She hesitated. "Does…does your brother really think Albert Wesker could be alive?"

"I don't think he _believes_ it," Claire said slowly, "but I don't think he's willing to discount it as a possibility, either."

Kirsty shook her head, looking suddenly frustrated.

"Is something wrong?"

She let out a long breath, hissing through her teeth. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's when people give too much credit to the dead." Then she turned and walked away, leaving Claire to wonder what that was all about.


	6. Chapter 6: Horbes

Chapter 6: Horbes

Jill was having a nightmare, but it wasn't one of her usual ones. This was a flash of images and feelings—she knew she was trapped in the underground facility again, trying to get from room to room, but she was being chased by something that kept gaining on her. At the same time, she was trapped in one of those tanks, but she was conscious. She kept hitting her hands against the glass, trying to break free, even as she struggled to get through the facility.

The glass shattered, and she fell out into the room. It was flooding again, and she knew she had to get to the stairs and get out of there, but something had her trapped. It was the serpent statue, backing her into a corner.

She tried explaining that they were going to drown if they didn't leave soon, but the snake said it wanted its eyes back. She had taken its eyes, and it wanted them back, and until she gave it its eyes back, no one was going anywhere. She told it where she had put the eyes, but it didn't believe her, and as the water level rose around them, it trapped her with its stone body, circling her as it demanded she listen to it, crushing her when she tried to escape…

"Jill!" It was Claire's voice, coming from somewhere beyond the snake's coils. She stopped yelling at it and tried to listen. If anyone else was in here, they were going to drown, too. "Jill, wake up!"

Her eyes snapped open to see Claire's face above her, and it took her a few moments to remember where she was. She was in Chris's house, in the room she was sharing with his sister. It had been bad enough when she only came to his house on particularly bad nights. Now she had practically moved in.

_Because I haven't felt safe being alone in my own house since the attack. Weak._

She groaned and rubbed her head. "It was just a weird dream. Don't worry about it."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Claire was partly up the ladder, having climbed enough to reach the top bunk and wake her up. She looked wide awake and worried.

"I was being browbeaten by a statue." She managed a laugh as she heard just how ridiculous that sounded. "I really don't think there's much to talk about there."

"A statue?"

"It was a snake statue I saw beneath the warehouse." She shivered and rubbed her arms, annoyed with herself. "It's been bugging me, and I don't know why."

"Well, snakes are an archetypal symbol of evil," Claire said, in the practiced tone of one who had memorized that piece of information sometime in the past.

"Maybe that's it," she agreed with a shrug, too tired to think of it further. She needed to get her rest if they were going to be dealing with the G.P.C. the next morning. "Good night."

"Good night."

She wasn't going to tell Claire about the cryostasis tanks. Chris had been disturbed enough by that part, and he had politely suggested that maybe they had just been something that _looked_ like that. She was starting to wonder, too, since they had been rigged to flood the room. The entire area had seemed to serve no logical purpose other than trying to kill people.

But she knew what she had seen. Those hadn't just been tanks filled with water to make the room a deathtrap. It hadn't even been water in them. They were designed for cryostasis, and she knew it.

_I was in one; I wouldn't make a mistake like that!_

Although, she knew there was a chance that paranoia was getting the better of her. She couldn't help but think that someone had designed that room hoping that the trap would catch someone who would be affected by the sight. After all, the entire warehouse had seemed designed to catch people trying to investigate it.

_That's crazy! No one would go to such lengths!_

She wasn't reassured. She stared up at the ceiling, unsettled by everything that had happened, until she once again found herself in that room as it filled up with water. She turned to the statue to explain, but it had already found its eyes. The eyes gleamed red, and then they were Wesker's eyes, and he was standing beside a corpse and a wall that held a message, dripping with blood.

DON'T YOU KNOW YOU  
>ARE HEADING FOR A TRAP<p>

xXx

Breakfast the next morning was interrupted by Barry, who arrived to say that he was going to come along to see them off at the airport.

"Really, Barry," Jill said, yawning, "that's a bit much. We're going to be back tomorrow."

"Never take chances, I always say," he said uncomfortingly. He sat down at the dining room table and watched the three of them eat cereal. "You look tired, Jill."

"I didn't sleep well," she admitted. "I had bad dreams about a statue."

He nodded and told her that he had once had a dream where he was being chased by a gigantic toaster that was spitting marshmallows at him. At this point, Chris started to choke on his cereal and had to leave the room for a minute. The story of Barry's toaster dream lasted all through breakfast. Apparently it had been quite epic and memorable.

Finally, they all piled into Chris's car, and he started to drive to the airport.

"Who exactly are we meeting, again?" Jill asked.

"The man's name is Rathbourne," Chris responded. "He's on the board of directors for the G.P.C. and acts as their chief representative for North America. He wasn't on the board when the B.S.A.A. was founded, so I don't really know a lot about him."

"If the G.P.C. is the Organization," Claire asked, "isn't there still a chance that this man won't know anything about it?"

"Of course. But right now, talking to him is the most we can do."

Barry chuckled. "Don't forget, expose him and trap him in his words!"

"Make him _confess_!" Claire shouted, in a credible impression of Kirsty.

Chris rolled his eyes and Jill turned around. "You guys, stop that! We have no idea what happened to make her hate them so much. You wouldn't make fun of me for the things that get me upset."

_Like a room full of cryostasis pods that I definitely saw._

That quieted the joking, and it was a solemn car for the rest of the trip to the airport, much to her dismay. She had only wanted to stop them from picking on someone who might have gone through hell at the hands of groups like the Organization. Now no one was talking at all.

They were still a subdued group when they reached the airport and began working their way through the crowd to the correct gate, until Chris suddenly stopped and groaned, "You've got to be kidding me."

She didn't know what he was talking about at first, but when she followed his gaze, she saw Leon, Sheva, and Kirsty. Kirsty began waving furiously when she noticed them.

"There they are!" she shouted to the other two, running to meet them. "We decided to get here early so we could see you off!"

"And you thought I was crazy," Barry said, with a triumphant grin.

Jill glanced at him. "Now I just think you have company in your madness."

They talked a little more as a group about what they were hoping to get accomplished in their meeting with Rathbourne, but then Sheva whispered, "That man over by the newsstand—is he watching us?"

The man in question quickly raised the newspaper he was holding to hide his face again, but Jill was sure his eyes had been focused right on her just a second previously. He was thankfully not wearing a black uniform, being instead dressed quite casually in blue jeans and a T-shirt.

"It doesn't have to be something sinister," Claire pointed out.

"Yeah," Barry said, nudging Jill. "He was looking at you; maybe he thinks you're cute."

She stepped on his foot when he started laughing, out of embarrassment as well as to stop him from drawing even more attention to them.

"We're going to miss our flight," Chris said, looking up at the time.

"Go," Leon advised. "We'll keep an eye on things from here. If it looks like he's following you, we'll step in."

He nodded, and then they hurried to the desk to get cleared for the flight. While they waited, Jill glanced over at the newsstand once. The man was folding up the newspaper and looking around—if she wasn't imagining things, he looked at her and Chris a second longer than was normal—and after he set it down, he started to walk towards them.

She tensed, but he suddenly changed directions and headed for the doors instead. She stared after him in surprise, and the uneasy feeling remained with her as they boarded the plane.

_Am I going to start suspecting everyone of being up to something?_

If she was becoming more paranoid, at least it wasn't just her. When the flight attendant greeted them brightly, Chris gave her such a critical look that she flushed red and backed away. He frowned at all of the passengers on the way to their seats, as well, and Jill grabbed his arm when it looked like he was going to adjust one man's hat to get a better view of his face.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"I'm just being cautious," he protested, although he left the man alone. "I've seen too many movies where the main character gets on a plane and doesn't realize the bad guys are on board until after they're in the air."

She sat down by the window, muttering, "Maybe you need to see my therapist."

He groaned and sat beside her. "I just want to live in peace without worrying that something was going to attack me all the time."

She reached over and patted his hand. She knew exactly how he felt. He smiled at her, looking so happy to be sitting with her despite the circumstances that she felt a blush creep its way onto her face. She looked out the window quickly.

_We're friends and partners, nothing more._ She realized she hadn't removed her hand from on top of his yet and quickly did so. He seemed disappointed, but that might have just been wishful thinking. _Wait, what? We're just friends. I've always been content with that. Haven't I?_

"Why did you lie to Kirsty?" she asked, trying to distract herself. "I mean, I'm glad you didn't tell her the details of what I went through in Africa, but couldn't you have just told her it was none of her business?"

"She seemed too nosy for that," he grumbled. "Besides, I technically didn't lie. It's not my fault if she assumes you were on a mission for the B.S.A.A."

She rolled her eyes, but when she took a look at the serious expression on his face, she couldn't help but smile. He could always make her smile, even in times like these. "Chris," she said, changing the subject as she remembered a thought she'd had, "there's something I thought of during our meeting yesterday. I wasn't sure I should bring it up in front of everyone."

"What is it?" he asked, giving her a curious look.

"A.W." She thought about the note from the warehouse, as well as the many files and memos she had copied in years past in case they would ever prove useful. "What if it isn't Ada Wong _or_ Albert Wesker?"

"Well, of course it could be someone completely different," he said, sounding confused. "That doesn't put us any further ahead, does it? If it's not Ada or Wesker—"

"Albert, I said."

He stared at her for a moment, and then he raised his eyebrows. "You mean…that thing we read about? The so-called 'Project W'? I'm not convinced that wasn't all made up. I'd hate to think there's a pack of Weskers running around somewhere."

"We can't ignore possibilities just because we don't like them," she said quietly. This one was one that couldn't be ignored. She felt sure that Wesker, at least, had believed it was true. _The Wesker Children,_ she thought, and she clenched her jaw against memories of her imprisonment that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Yeah… You're right. Whatever it is, we'll work it out, right?" He reached over and patted her knee companionably, and she nodded, trying to ignore the awkward thrill that ran through her. The bad memories had been banished for the moment, but now she was all too aware of Chris sitting close beside her.

Jill leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes as the plane started down the runway. This wasn't going to be an easy flight.

xXx

She still hadn't come to terms with her thoughts by the time they landed. She found herself staring at Chris's broad shoulders as they disembarked, wondering just what her feelings towards him were and if she could ever put them into words. He was always there for her, the best friend she'd ever had. She trusted him with her life and knew that he would do anything for her, just as she would do anything for him.

Chris stepped into the airport and turned around to wait for her. He looked quite nice in his B.S.A.A. uniform; it fit him well. She noticed again how happy he seemed just to see her. She wondered more than ever exactly what was going through that mind of his.

_Probably thoughts as confusing as mine,_ she decided, as she joined him.

"You look preoccupied," he commented, with the little smile that she loved.

"Just thinking," she mumbled. She saw his look change to one of concern, and she spoke quickly before he could press her further. "Where do we go from here?" They had never received directions to Rathbourne's place, which made her uncomfortable.

"Well, he said he'd send someone to meet us."

She stuck close to him as they walked through the airport, looking around. Finally, a man saw them and started to wave, hurrying towards them. She got Chris's attention and pointed to him.

"Were you sent to meet us here?" he asked.

The man, somewhat short and dressed in a crisp, blue uniform, nodded. "Yes, I am Mr. Rathbourne's chauffeur. I am to escort you to his manor."

"All right," Chris said, although once they had started to follow him, he turned to Jill and mouthed, "His manor?" with a questioning tilt of his head.

She shrugged, not sure if he was asking if she was surprised that a director of the G.P.C. had a manor, or if he was worried that a manor might trigger some of her intrusive memories. Either way, she didn't have an answer for him, but she wasn't backing out now.

Outside, she noticed that many people were staring at them, but this may have been because the chauffeur had driven a limousine to pick them up. Feeling awkward, she got inside, with Chris right behind her. People were still trying to get a better look when the chauffeur closed his door and started to drive through the city. She looked out the window, catching sight of the street signs as they passed them in case they needed to find their own way back.

"So, have you worked for Mr. Rathbourne long?" Chris asked.

"Oh, yes." He said nothing more, but smiled in the rearview mirror towards them.

"Do you know a lot about the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium?" Jill tried, still watching where they were going but now paying attention to him as well.

"As much as a driver needs to know."

Chris waited for a moment and then adopted a more conversational tone. "You probably get to escort a lot of people connected with the Consortium and its companies, don't you?"

"Oh, yes."

After they rode in silence for a little while, Chris leaned over and whispered, "Well, it's your turn."

She kicked him lightly, and he grinned. She rolled her eyes. "You weren't around during the days of Umbrella, were you?" she asked, remembering that Rathbourne hadn't been on the board of directors before the founding of the B.S.A.A.

"Oh, no."

Chris cleared his throat. "I sure hope none of the other companies are up to anything bad. You keep an eye out for that sort of thing, don't you?"

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know what to look for, sir."

_If we keep this up much longer, he's going to think we're interrogating him,_ Jill thought, but she couldn't resist one last attempt. "I was wondering if you've ever met a friend of mine. She's Asian, has short black hair… She might have been wearing red…" She hesitated, as she was describing Ada from a photograph she had seen and Leon's description, but the driver was already shaking his head.

"I don't think I have. I'm sorry, my lady."

_My lady?_ She raised her eyebrows. She wasn't sure she had ever been called that before. She returned her full attention to watching outside.

They continued on in silence until she was sure they had to be nearly there. Sure enough, the limousine came to a stop, and the driver got out. He opened Chris's door, and then circled around to the other side.

"This way, my lady," he said, holding out a hand to help her out.

She accepted it to be polite, deciding that the unusual form of address was just his way of showing respect. He led them up the path to the manor, which was massive and almost intimidating in appearance. She could see at least three stories, with balconies jutting out from the upper floors, and the building stretched far back, as well.

He led them up marble steps to a grand door, and rang the doorbell. They were admitted by an elderly butler, who upon being introduced to them, immediately pulled a cord hanging near the entrance.

"Someone will be here to escort you in a minute," he informed them with a bow.

The room they were in was only an entrance hall, but it still was huge. Gilded statues guarded the doors, and Jill found herself staring at an elaborate doorknocker in the shape of a jewel-eyed lion, wondering if Rathbourne had a secret passage somewhere that could only be opened with those jewels. Chris seemed unusually anxious as they waited, looking around and shifting from foot to foot. She rested her hand on his arm calmingly. She felt the return of that earlier awkwardness and wished she hadn't, but at the same time she had no desire to remove her hand.

A blue-liveried servant entered the room and bowed. "You rang?"

"These are Mr. Rathbourne's guests," the butler said, "Mr. Redfield and Miss Valentine. He requested that they meet with him in the white parlor room."

The servant bowed again and indicated that they should follow. They did so, going through so many halls and corridors that she was certain he was trying to get them lost. She found herself memorizing the way back, even as she scanned the halls for concealed threats, just in case.

Finally, the servant stopped at an all-white door and knocked once. Then he opened it, announcing their presence as though they were entering the royal court. Only then did he stand aside, bow again, and allow them to enter.

The white parlor room had gotten its name for a reason. Other than the marble floor, which retained the cream color Jill had seen throughout the manor, the pale blue couch and chairs in the center of the room, and a black piano in the corner, it was entirely white. White curtains blocked the windows, and more hung in various spots along the walls. The one thing that looked really out of place, however, was Mr. Rathbourne, who was standing in front of one of the chairs.

He was a short, hefty man, with beady little eyes and a neatly combed head of brown hair on top of a very round, very red face. He was dressed in a black suit that looked so crisp, Jill half expected it to crack when he sat down.

"That will be all," he said the servant, who closed the door and left. "Please, honored members of the B.S.A.A., be seated."

Exchanging glances, Chris and Jill sat together on the couch. Rathbourne sat in the chair across from it, separated from them by a white table that sat in the center. From the care he took in sitting, and the way he carefully arranged his suit afterwards, he struck her as being quite concerned about his appearance.

"What may I do for you?" he asked, but then he raised his hand. "Excuse me. Where are my manners? We must have wine."

"No, that's fine," Chris began, but Rathbourne had already clapped his hands together imperiously.

"Yes, sir?" a quiet voice asked, from somewhere near the wall. Jill looked around, wondering how she had missed another person in the room. She still could see no one else.

"We must have wine for our guests!"

"Yes, sir," the same voice said, and she realized that the speaker was standing behind the curtains in the corner.

Seeing Jill staring, Rathbourne explained, "The curtains make sure our servants are never seen unless they are needed."

"Oh. That's very…"

"Yes, I know," he said with a magnanimous smile. She wasn't fooled, and she doubted his thoughts about the curtains were the same as hers anyway. If this man was on the board of directors for the G.P.C., her suspicions about them had just gotten darker. His eyes were dark and glittering, untouched by the smile. Here was a man who cared about nothing and no one when it came to advancing his own interests.

"We're glad you agreed to meet with us," Chris said.

"How could I ever deny the honored members of the B.S.A.A., particularly in these dark times? May I congratulate you on your recent victories? Oh, and Miss Valentine, you look wonderful. The blonde hair suits you."

She stared at him, jolted by the blatant reminder of the change in her appearance. _She saw her reflection, and she was shocked by what she saw. Her appearance wasn't her own any more, any more than her life had been her own since falling into Wesker's hands._ "Thank you," she finally managed, choosing to take it as the compliment it appeared to be. "Have we met before?"

"Oh no," he said, with a hearty chuckle. "I would have remembered such an honor. I have always been interested in the efforts of the B.S.A.A., though. I believe I wept upon news of your demise."

_Glass shattered around her, and then they were hurtling through the air. She was going to die, knew she was going to die, but it didn't matter as long as she took Wesker with her. Now Chris was safe, and that was what mattered._ She managed a weak smile.

Chris cleared his throat loudly. He looked like he was considering hitting Rathbourne, but instead he just said, "Yes, well, we aren't here to reminisce. We're here to talk about the attacks. Quite frankly, we have no leads, and we need the G.P.C.'s help."

"Our help?" He looked stunned, although she thought she saw a hint of fear in his eyes. "What could we do to help?"

"Possibly quite a bit." Chris leaned forward. "The Consortium had key evidence to bring against Umbrella, back during their trial. If you know anything at all that could point to the source of _these_ attacks…"

"Oh, where is that wine…?" He clapped his hands again, looking a little pale. "Where is the wine?"

"Coming, sir," the servant whispered from behind the curtains.

"I know of nothing that can help you, I'm afraid," Rathbourne sighed. Jill studied his face. There was an odd glitter in his eyes; she felt she could practically see his mind working.

"Are you sure?" Chris asked, as a tray with glasses was set down on the table by a blue-liveried arm. "Any information at all could prove useful."

"I will be blunt, Mr. Redfield. While I do not speak for the entire Consortium, it is of my personal opinion that these terrorists have done us a great service in getting rid of the remnants of those rogue companies."

"_What?_" Chris looked livid, and he hit the table with such force that he nearly knocked down the glasses that the servant was attempting to fill. "You…I…_what? _Do you have any idea what you're saying, Mr. Rathbourne? Innocent people were murdered! By _bioweapons_! I don't care if they did know what Umbrella and the others were up to—which all reports say most of them didn't, by the way—they didn't deserve that!"

Jill was shocked by Rathbourne's indifference, too, and her misgivings about him grew. He was now hastily trying to amend what he had said, but Chris was shouting over him. Unless this sort of thing happened all the time, the servant had to be horrified. She turned to thank him for the wine, since no one else was paying him any attention at all—and froze.

Gray eyes stared out of a battle-hardened face, and his build was that of a soldier, not a servant. He wore the blue livery like all the others, but she would have recognized him anywhere. He was one of the H.C.F. members who had guarded her, the man who had been in charge under Wesker. She had fought him, fought alongside him, hated him with every fiber of her being, and now he was here, pouring wine for this foppish executive.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

"He's pouring the wine," Rathbourne responded, sounding annoyed. "Now he's going back to his place. Go, Horbes!"

_Horbes,_ she repeated silently, as the man obeyed, walking to hide behind the curtains in the corner. _Yes, that was his name. Jeffrey Horbes. Why is he here? What is he up to?_ She looked towards the curtain, where he was presumably still standing, acting as though he were innocent. _He'll pay for what they did to me._

Seething, she realized that her agitation was obvious. Both Rathbourne and Chris were staring at her, with frustration and concern, respectively. She tried to smile, driving away all thoughts of being forcibly injected, beaten, restrained. She also drove away all thoughts of breaking Horbes into a million tiny pieces.

"I don't know what you think I can tell you," Rathbourne said, seeming satisfied that the little incident was over.

"Hold it," Chris said. "You still haven't explained how you can think that what those people did was right."

He took a deep breath. From the look on his face, one would have thought he was talking to a small child. "The things the Umbrella Corporation did were evil. While I don't necessarily justify repaying evil with evil, you can't blame people for wanting revenge."

"The people that were attacked were _innocent_!"

Getting the impression that they were going to be arguing for a while, Jill got up and stepped away from the couch. Chris started to glance towards her but then stopped, apparently realizing that whatever she was doing was important. Rathbourne didn't even appear to notice.

Walking quietly so as not to alert him, she approached the curtains in the corner and reached up to throw them open. She hesitated, glanced back at the raging argument, and then stepped behind the curtain herself. There was a door back there, currently closed. She assumed it was how he had left to get the wine. Horbes was standing in front of it, looking so passive that she decided not to start by hitting him after all.

"What are you doing here, Horbes?" she hissed.

He didn't answer, didn't even seem aware that he was being spoken to. If anything, he had blinked a little more rapidly than normal.

"I know who you are. You're a member of the Hive/Host Capture Force. This disguise doesn't fool me."

He turned towards her, but his eyes were downcast and his voice was dull. "Is there something I can do to help you, my lady?"

"Don't you give me that! My name is Jill Valentine. You know who I am, Horbes."

"If you say so, my lady," he replied. He half-raised his hands, as though to shield himself from a blow.

She stared at him. Her righteous anger was fading, to be replaced by curiosity and confusion. It was definitely the same man. Standing this close to him, she knew she was not mistaken. His attitude, however, was entirely different. He had been a cold, hard man, yet also wildly loyal to Wesker. If Wesker had considered himself a god, then Horbes had considered himself his prophet. She couldn't imagine him taking orders from anyone else.

Terrible memories pulled on her mind, and she gasped as she tried to force them away. The Horbes she knew would have taken advantage of her distraction. She expected him to push her away, leave through the door, or alert someone that she was back there. Yet he did none of these things, and when she had cleared her mind and stopped shaking, he was still staring dismally at the floor.

"Look at me," she ordered. He did so, and she met his eyes with difficulty. The coldness was gone. Now his eyes seemed lost and distant, as though he was seeing something other than her. "Look at _me_," she insisted.

For a moment, his eyes were truly focused on hers, and then he let out a shuddering gasp. "You! Who… I… Make them stop! Make them leave me alone!"

"Who?" she asked, alarmed by this turn of events. "Make who leave you alone?"

"Can you see them?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper. "All the time…everywhere… Thought of you… Sorry… Still loyal… Never ends… Everywhere…"

"You thought of me?" she asked, grasping on the only phrase that made any sense. "When?"

"Loyal," he groaned, grabbing his head. "Forever… Until death… Failed… Why won't it stop? Never stops…"

He continued to rave, weeping as he spouted out bursts of gibberish that made no sense. His mind wasn't right, she realized, and she felt a surprising wave of pity towards him. "Horbes," she whispered, "tell me what happened. Maybe we can help you."

He looked at her, blinked as if seeing her for the first time, and then he grabbed her arm. His fingers dug in so tight that she gasped and tried to pull away, but he clung to her desperately. "Shadows… Always here… Make them stop… I… _sorry…_ Stop… _Please…_ Make them leave me alone! Please, just make it stop!"


	7. Chapter 7: Traitor

Chapter 7: Traitor

"I just really think this is a bad idea," Kirsty cried, as they hurried together through the downtown streets. She had lifted the skirt of her violet dress so as to keep pace with them without tripping. "Why aren't we waiting for Chris and Jill to get back?"

"Because they wouldn't want us to do anything reckless," Barry said.

"Then why are we doing it?"

"Because we're reckless."

Claire exchanged glances with Sheva and shrugged. Ahead of them, Leon was striding along as though he couldn't hear a word of what they were saying. He was fixed on his destination, a café on the corner.

After leaving the airport, he had tried to leave at once, and when they had tried to find out what the urgency was about, he finally admitted that he was supposed to meet Ada. With so much confusion over her involvement with the Organization, he had used his resources as a government agent to contact her. He hadn't thought it would work, but to his surprise she had agreed to meet with him.

She probably hadn't expected to be meeting with four of his friends as well.

"All right, here it is," he said, stopping in front of a small café. He folded his arms across the front of his brown bomber jacket. "Why don't you guys just wait outside, okay?"

"What should we do when she shoots you?" Kirsty asked, also folding her arms.

"She won't!" he protested.

"She might."

"If she did, I think I could handle myself."

"Really?"

He narrowed his eyes, and Sheva cut in, "To be fair, Leon, you did spend the entire trip back to the hotel yesterday talking about what a strong and capable person Ada is."

He looked faintly embarrassed. "Never mind that."

"Let's go in," Barry said. "I'm hungry, anyway."

Leon met Claire's eyes, and she gave him a thumbs-up. When Kirsty had begun panicking over the idea of him going to meet with an enemy agent by himself, Barry had volunteered to go along and begged Sheva to help as well. Unable to dissuade any of them—even the noncombatant—from coming, Leon had asked Claire to come and make sure they didn't get out of line.

_I guess I represent our collective reason_, she thought dryly, as they entered the café as a conspicuous pack. Despite the fact that she, Sheva, and Barry had all dressed as casually as Leon—although the four of them all had concealed weapons, in case things went awry—she felt sure that anyone looking at them could tell they weren't there for the food.

It wasn't very busy. Although booths lined the walls and tables were scattered throughout the center, only a handful of people were currently inside. The air smelled heavily of coffee, and Barry ran over to the counter to order something while the rest of them looked around.

"You're sure this was where she said to meet you?" Sheva asked.

"I'm positive," Leon replied. "Although if I were in her position, I'd be intimidated by having a group come to meet me."

"Oh, I agree," Kirsty commented. "If I were meeting with someone working against my organization, I'd much rather murder him alone than have to take care of all of his friends at the same time."

He gave her a flat look, and she smiled sweetly back. Claire stepped in between them. "Come on, guys. Let's just see what happens."

Kirsty rolled her eyes, and Leon stepped forward, glancing around. "There she is!" he whispered, pointing.

At a booth near the back, Ada Wong was sitting by herself. She was reading a menu, but the expression on her face was one of boredom. She was wearing a red dress, as she often did, and her black hair was falling into her eyes. She reached up to push it away, not noticing them yet.

Leon opened his mouth, but Sheva caught his arm. "Wait. Look at the table behind her."

A few feet behind Ada's booth and to the left, a man and a woman sat together at a small table. They were whispering together over their coffee, looking similar enough with their thin-boned faces and military haircuts that they could have been siblings. There was nothing to set them apart from the rest of the café's patrons—except that they were dressed in the black uniforms seen on the other members of the H.C.F.

Something in the pseudo-casual way they were sitting, their bodies just slightly angled towards Ada, suggested to Claire that they were there because of her. Either she had brought backup, or the Organization had sent them to keep an eye on her.

Leon muttered a curse under his breath and took a deep breath. "Sheva? Do you think you can distract them?"

"You must be joking!" she hissed, throwing him a disbelieving stare.

He shook his head. "Please. Just long enough for me to talk to Ada."

"All right," Sheva sighed. "Make this quick." She walked over to the table and pulled up a third chair to sit with the two startled H.C.F. agents. As she began to talk to them, her hand edged towards the pocket where she had hidden her gun.

Claire abruptly felt as though she were being watched. Glancing over her shoulder, she realized that the man in line behind Barry was looking at her. His eyes glowed with a faintly orange light.

She turned to warn Leon, but he was no longer standing by her. As he walked towards Ada, she forced herself to remain calm. "Kirsty," she said, as quietly as she could and still be heard by the other woman, "go and tell Barry that he might be in danger. Okay?"

She gulped but hurried towards the counter. Claire ran to catch up with Leon, wanting to be close enough to help if Ada and the H.C.F. turned on them all at once.

Looking up as they approached, Ada got to her feet and met them partway. She seemed a little anxious, and Claire wished she knew her well enough to judge if it was because she was going to betray her employers, or because she was going to betray Leon.

"I think you were followed," Leon said.

"Them?" she asked, tilting her head back towards the table where the black-clad customers looked like they were getting suspicious of Sheva. She snorted. "At least the Organization still trusts me."

_Wait, isn't the H.C.F. working for the Organization?_

"What's going on, Ada?" Leon asked.

Gunfire interrupted them, and Claire spun around to see that Barry and the infected man had started a firefight. Screams erupted as the normal patrons of the café attempted to flee; unfortunately the battle was too close to the entrance for them to approach it safely. She turned back and saw that the two H.C.F. members had gotten to their feet, as had Sheva, though none of them had yet drawn their weapons. Claire and Leon both reached for their guns as Kirsty rejoined them.

"I told you this was a trap!" she cried.

Ada looked at each one of them, eyes blazing with sudden hatred. Claire took a reflexive step backwards at the look on her face, as did Leon. Kirsty let out a shriek and grabbed them desperately, wailing something incoherent.

_Like I need to be in a death grip right now,_ Claire thought in annoyance, trying to shake her free as she grabbed her gun. Sheva was now shooting at the H.C.F. agents from behind the table, while they staged their attack from one of the booths. From the screams she could hear, Barry's opponent had been twisted into its mutated form.

"Ada?" Leon was doing an admirable job of ignoring both the shooting and Kirsty trying to use him as a lifeline. "What's wrong? You asked to meet me here…"

"Still questioning my loyalty?" she snarled, hand darting towards her leg.

Leon and Claire dove for the ground as Ada pulled out a gun and fired, dragging Kirsty down with them. The bullet struck the wall behind them. The café was now in a state of complete pandemonium. The H.C.F. agents took advantage of the increased chaos to dart out of their hiding place and dash for the door. Barry, having dispatched the Plaga, jumped over its body to follow them, but their renewed shooting forced him to take cover.

Sheva ran towards Ada even as Leon lifted his head, a shocked expression on his face. "Ada, what are you doing?" he cried.

"You have no idea what's going on, do you?" Ada shouted. She turned and ran for the door, using the terrified crowd to aid her escape. She flung the door open and dashed out into the street.

Leon was the first to react. "Ada, wait!" He jumped up and ran out after her, closely followed by Sheva. Kirsty squeaked and scrambled to her feet, running after them.

"Is it too late for me to order?" Barry asked, turning to the woman behind the counter.

Getting up, Claire grabbed Barry's arm and pulled him out the door after the others. "Come on!"

She caught sight of the hem of Ada's dress, disappearing around the corner. Leon was chasing her, with the other two close on his heels. As they followed, Claire had to admit to herself that she was shocked by what had happened. She hadn't expected Ada to betray them, especially not after agreeing to meet. It didn't seem like her style, and it wasn't consistent with her past interactions with Leon.

By the time they rounded the corner, Ada was nowhere in sight. Leon was standing in the middle of the street, a few feet ahead of the others, still looking stunned.

"It was an ambush?" he whispered, questioningly, as though he didn't believe it.

Kirsty sniffed.

Sirens could be heard in the distance; someone must have called the police at last. Claire could still hear screams from the direction of the café, as well.

"Come on," she said. "We're going to have to tell the police what happened."

xXx

"There's something wrong here, Claire," Leon said. The two of them were sitting in Chris's living room, as he had wanted to talk to her after they had finished answering questions for the police. Barry had returned to his home, and the other two had gone to the hotel already.

"Other than the obvious?" she asked.

He nodded, frowning. "I mean, there's something wrong with what's wrong. Ada agreed to meet me; I really didn't think she would betray me."

"It surprised me too," she said.

"Maybe hoping she'd betray the Organization for me was too much. But let's say she's loyal to them. Wouldn't it make more sense for her to pretend to be on my side, to gain my trust and try to get information from me? I had already suggested that those two from the H.C.F. were following her. She could easily have let me believe that they and the infected soldier had been sent to watch her."

She nodded.

"There's more. I realized it when I was in the café with the police. With the trajectory she fired at, that shot would never have hit me. Ada is an excellent marksman; her aim couldn't have been that far off at that close of range."

"The H.C.F. was right there," Claire said. "Maybe she was just pretending to betray you, so they wouldn't suspect her. If they _were_ watching her, she couldn't talk to you unless they were distracted, and Barry had just gotten their attention by shooting."

He smiled. "Are you saying that to make me feel better?"

"No, I really do think there's something fishy going on."

"Good." He got up and walked over to the window, looking out. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. "There's another lead I want to check out. If you come to help, I'd really appreciate it."

"Me?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes." He turned around to face her. "We've fought together a couple of times now. I know I can depend on you."

"Thanks," she said, getting up and walking over to stand by him. "What are you going to do?"

"I traced Ada's message. She sent it from a house on the outskirts of town. I doubt she'll still be there, but she might have left something behind."

_Especially if she secretly wants to help_, Claire thought. She nodded. "All right. I'm in." _So much for being the reasonable one._

xXx

The house seemed to be on the outskirts of the outskirts, with nothing around it but grass and a few trees. They were walking along the dirt road that led out there, approaching it, when Claire noticed a black van coming from the other direction. She slowed down instinctively, as did Leon.

The vehicle parked in front of the house, and two familiar people got out. The black-clad man from the café walked to the house and knocked on the door, while the woman waited by the van.

"This is not good," Claire muttered, coming to a complete halt.

"You can say that again," Leon agreed.

The man turned away from the door and shook his head. The woman walked around to the back of the van and opened the trunk. She reached for something, but then she looked up. She stepped back into the road, frowning at the two of them.

"I don't think this is a good time to be hanging around," Claire said nervously. They were armed, but she didn't want to start a fight without knowing what they were up against. More importantly, she wanted to know what the H.C.F. members were doing there. It could prove once and for all whether or not they were on the same side as Ada.

"Let's go back. Do you have the keys to Chris's car?"

"Yes…"

He didn't say anything else until they were well away from the two strangers, almost all the way back in town. Then, once they were hurrying back towards Chris's house, he said, "I think we should get the car and park out of sight. If they do anything suspicious, we can follow them. I'll go to the hotel and get my binoculars. Meet me out in front."

"All right," she agreed, and they parted ways. This was suddenly getting a lot more involved—and she couldn't help but think of the word that had been used earlier that morning, _reckless_—but something inside her was saying that they were finally on the right track. Ada had been acting strangely, and besides that, they had very few leads on what the Organization was up to.

They couldn't let these two slip from their grasp.

When she reached the house, she found the car keys as quickly as she could, and then ran back outside to start it up. She hadn't driven Chris's car often, but there was nothing particularly tricky about it. She pulled out of the driveway and drove until she reached the hotel. Parking in front of it, she settled down to wait for Leon.

She was waiting for so long that she began to think something had happened to him. She was just considering going inside to look for him, when he came out of the building. He noticed the car and hurried over to join her in it.

"Sorry it took so long. Kirsty was prowling around the lobby."

"Prowling?"

"I think she was waiting to use a computer, actually. I didn't want her to see me and rally the whole mob again."

Claire laughed and started driving. "You don't think it will be dangerous enough to want more people along?"

"I wouldn't say no to bringing Sheva or Barry—not that we have enough time to go back for Barry, mind you—but after what happened this morning, I think it could definitely be too dangerous to bring along someone who can't fight. I'll ask Chris to say something to Kirsty about that."

"Why Chris?"

"I think she's afraid of him."

She took her eyes off the road for just a second to stare at him. He looked perfectly serious. "Why? Chris isn't scary."

"Of course you'd say that; you're his sister," he said with a laugh. "I think it's because he keeps glaring at her."

She had to laugh too, at that, but then she frowned. "She worries she'll never be accepted by us."

"She does?" He sounded skeptical. "It's been what, three days?

She didn't respond, because they were approaching the area where he had traced Ada. Pulling off the road, she drove as quietly as she could until she reached a cluster of trees. From what she had seen of the landscape the last time, this was as close as they could get and remain hidden. She parked the car.

Leon got out his binoculars and looked through them. "Well, the van's still there." He frowned. "They must be inside the house. Wait, here they come!"

"What are they doing?"

"They're putting something in the van. It looks like papers, maybe; it's hard to tell from here. Now they're getting in the van."

"Can you see the house from here?" Claire asked. "Can you tell if they had to break in or not?"

He turned slightly. "I think—"

But the rest of his words were drowned out as an explosion rocked the area. The ground beneath the car shook, and they were thrown forward as the vehicle rolled backwards a few feet. Leon was looking through the binoculars, yelling something about smoke.

Tires screeched up ahead, and Claire put the car into drive. She pulled out onto the road just in time to see the enemy van hurtling away. The house was destroyed; pieces of it had been thrown all around the area. The ground where it had sat was caved in, and trees had splintered and fallen.

"After them!" Leon shouted.

She slammed her foot on the gas and took off after the other vehicle. The van was kicking up dust behind it, putting on more speed when they realized they were being pursued. Claire increased her speed as well, thinking distantly that Chris would kill her if she wrecked the car.

The van suddenly made a sharp turn off the road, taking her by surprise. She twisted the steering wheel, trying to follow. Her turn was wide, but she made it onto the plain they were racing across. They were heading away from town, towards the river.

They didn't turn as they reached it, and the van hit the riverbank and kept going, slowing only slightly by the bump. Claire squeezed her eyes shut and followed. The car hit the edge and lifted into the air; she found herself wishing the car horn played Dixie as the wheels hit the ground again. Then they were racing across the other side of the field after the van, as it turned, destination still unknown.

"Turn!" Leon shouted, and she veered to the side without questioning. A second later she heard the shot, as the van's passenger tried to shoot them. As she dodged further shots, Leon got out his gun.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Try to blow out their tires," he answered, aiming.

His first shot hit just short of the tire, and the van took evasive action. As it snaked along ahead of them, Claire was hard pressed to keep it steady in their sights for Leon to aim at. They had begun to climb uphill, and the van soon dipped out of sight ahead of them.

Thinking they had only gone down the other side of the hill, she screamed when she saw the edge of a cliff approaching. She slammed down on the brakes, and they skidded to a halt just inches away from death.

She looked at Leon. He looked stunned.

They both got out of the car and approached the edge of the cliff. It was a long way down, and the van was now just flaming wreckage. There was no way anyone could have gotten out in time.

"I didn't even hit them," Leon said. "They drove over the edge on their own."

"I guess they really didn't want to be caught," she said with a shiver, thinking about the reports of how the Las Plagas infectees and their commanders had killed themselves.

"Do you think they were here under orders from the Organization?" he asked.

She thought about Ada's comment about the Organization trusting her. "I'm not sure. But if not, then who are they working for?"

"I don't know. But I sure wish I knew what they had taken from that house."

"Not to mention why they felt the need to destroy it," she whispered. She hoped Ada hadn't been in the house when it blew up. If she had been, she probably was dead.

They stood there together in grim silence for a long while, staring down at the destruction below.


	8. Chapter 8: The Tragic Accident

Chapter 8: The Tragic Accident

Jill tried to free herself from Horbes's grip as he screamed and sobbed, sometimes begging her for help, although his grasp on reality kept fading. His hand was like a vice, and it was with great difficulty that she finally pried his fingers off of her arm. He fell to the ground.

"Don't leave me!" he pleaded, trying to grab her legs. "They're…everywhere! _Please_!"

By now they had caused such a commotion that Chris and Rathbourne had to have noticed, so she wasn't at all surprised when the curtain was flung to the side.

"What's going on here?" the executive demanded. "Horbes! Get up!"

"What happened to him?" Jill asked.

"Nothing sinister, if that's what that tone of voice is supposed to imply, Miss Valentine. Horbes, _get up_!"

The ex-soldier got to his feet and stood beside them, swaying. He looked worn out from his outburst, and he was once again staring fixedly at the floor. She wondered if that made it easier to bear whatever it was he thought was happening to him.

_And if they _are_ the Organization, he might not be imagining it._

"I'm very sorry about that," Rathbourne said, with a chuckle as though this sort of thing happened all the time. "Now, if we could return to our previous discussion…?"

"Not until you tell me what happened to him."

Chris was staring at the three of them, looking from one to the other in turn. "I'd like to know what's going on in general."

"It's nothing! My servant here just has a slight mental disorder; it's nothing to be upset about, although I understand it can be quite alarming to people seeing it for the first time."

"Shouldn't he see a doctor or something?" Chris asked. "I mean, the way he was screaming, it sounded like something was really wrong."

Now he was starting to look irritated. "Really, I know what I'm talking about. We've dealt with this for all his life, and—"

"You liar!" Before she knew what she was doing, Jill had grabbed Rathbourne by the collar. She jerked him towards her so she could stare him in the face. "I knew that man! He was fine just a few years ago! So stop lying and _tell me what happened to him!_"

She released him and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. He looked like this was the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to him, and he started straightening his suit with shaking hands. For that matter, Chris looked a bit startled himself.

Jill looked away. She couldn't remember ever intentionally intimidating someone like that before—not of her own free will, at least. The thought made her wince. And she had done it for someone like Horbes, too. Just a few minutes ago, she had been planning to kill him herself.

_Please, just make it stop!_

She could still hear his screams. She had heard people scream like that before; she had _made_ people scream like that while under Wesker's control. But this was someone in apparent safety, screaming about things that only he could feel, things that only he could see. This was someone who now was cowed and submissive when he wasn't desperate and pleading, and he had once been as hard as steel.

"He had a tragic accident," Rathbourne squeaked. "It… Must we talk over here, by him? Can't we sit down again?"

Chris looked at Jill, and she reluctantly nodded. She didn't want to leave Horbes standing alone by the wall in his state, but she didn't think there was anything they could do for him. He didn't even appear aware of their presence anymore.

Once they had sat back down, Rathbourne took a drink of wine and looked slightly calmer. "I admit I lied at first. I don't like to think about the truth. He was working for one of the pharmaceutical companies before coming here. I don't know which one, offhand. One day, he was in a place where he wasn't supposed to be, and he had an accident with some of the drugs. It either was something experimental or a bad combination, and it left him with brain damage. There was some sort of hallucinatory effect, and he sometimes relives it if he's _provoked._" He narrowed his eyes at Jill. "He was transferred to me as a servant, because he can only do simple tasks now. Are you satisfied, Miss Valentine, or are you going to demand his complete medical file?"

She stared steadily back at him, not willing to back down. After all they had seen of the H.C.F. lately, it was too much of a coincidence to find Horbes here. She considered asking for the file after all, but she didn't trust that it wouldn't be tampered with. "As a member of the B.S.A.A., I ask that you release Mr. Horbes into our custody."

"_What?_" He stared at her as if she had asked the impossible. "Are you mad?"

"Surely you can do without one of your servants for a short period of time, Mr. Rathbourne."

"I…" He looked at Chris as though appealing to him for help.

Chris looked like he was still lost. "Jill? Can we talk for a minute?"

She nodded and got up, following him over to stand near the doorway, where Rathbourne wouldn't be able to easily hear them talking.

"Is this important?" he whispered.

"I don't know," she admitted quietly. She lowered her voice even further. "He was with the H.C.F., Chris. Considering what's at stake and our suspicions about the Organization, I think it's our duty to find out as much as possible about what happened to him."

He nodded. "All right." Turning back to Rathbourne, he said, "I second her request. Let him come with us."

The executive looked on the verge of apoplexy. "No! You can't honestly think this was some sort of bioterrorist attack, can you? The man suffered an accident, a tragic accident, and I won't let you distress him any further!"

_Yeah, you're dripping with compassion for him_, Jill thought sarcastically, but she kept her mouth shut.

"We won't harm him," Chris said reassuringly. "We'll help him, if we can. This could help us, Mr. Rathbourne."

"Do you have a warrant?"

"A what?"

"A warrant!" A smug smile appeared on that round face. "Why should I turn anyone over to you if you don't have a warrant?"

Chris glared at him for a moment and then finally growled, "Fine." He turned around and marched towards the door. Jill followed, hoping he intended to get a warrant. She cast a final glance back at Horbes, who was still staring pathetically downwards.

A servant was waiting in the hallway, and he bowed as soon as he saw them. She expected him to escort them out through another winding, twisting way, but instead he hurried past them into the white parlor. Jill wondered what he was going to do, but she decided that getting custody of Horbes was more important than eavesdropping. They worked their way back along the path she had memorized, finally arriving at the entrance again.

The butler opened the door and told them to have a good day, acting not at all disconcerted by their stony silence. Outside, she almost expected to see the chauffeur waiting, but he was nowhere in sight.

"All right," Chris said, as they started down the path. "We'll call headquarters and see about getting a warrant. Hopefully this won't take too long."

"Chris…" She glanced over her shoulder at the manor doors, feeling uneasy. Kirsty said G.P.C. was the Organization, and if that was true… "I think I had better go back and keep an eye on Horbes, to make sure they don't shuttle him away while we're gone."

"You think it's that serious?" he asked.

She thought about that panicked, screaming man, and about how upset Rathbourne had been. "Yes. I do."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "All right. I'll be back as soon as I can. Be careful."

"Thanks." She looked at him, feeling there was more she could say and wanting to say it. Unable to find the words, she just smiled at him. "Good luck, Chris."

Then she turned and quickly ran back to the manor doors.

xXx

To her surprise, the doors were slightly ajar when she reached them, as though the butler had been interrupted in seeing them out. She could hear the murmur of voices inside, and she quietly opened the door just enough so that she could hear what was being said. Keeping very still, she hoped she wouldn't be noticed.

"…comes by, what do I do, sir?" the butler was asking.

"Detain her!" Rathbourne's voice hissed. "Kill her if there's no other option, but we'd be expected to hold her until someone could take her to the castle."

Jill barely dared to breathe. Whatever she was overhearing here, she knew she didn't want to be caught. Who was it the butler was supposed to kill or detain? She worried it was her, because of her interest in Horbes. She wondered what castle it was their prisoner would be sent to.

The butler was mumbling something, too quietly for her to make out the words. From the tone, she got the impression he was disagreeing. There came the sudden, violent sound of someone being slammed against the wall.

"Damn you, an order's an order!" Rathbourne snarled. "I will _not_ have my loyalty questioned by that demon!"

She heard the sound of retreating footsteps, and after waiting a safe amount of time, Jill positioned herself as though she had just arrived and rang the doorbell.

_What "demon" is Rathbourne loyal to? _she wondered as she waited.

The butler looked agitated when he opened the doors and saw it was her, and it only got worse when she stepped into the hall and announced that she wanted to go see Rathbourne again. He was pale and looked distinctly unsettled. "I don't believe Mr. Rathbourne wishes to have any more guests at the moment, my lady. You will have to leave."

As he was trying to turn her away, either she was not the person they had been speaking about after all, or he was disobeying his orders. The smart thing to do would have been to leave, but she remember Horbes's screams and took a deep breath. "I'm afraid this can't wait."

"And I'm afraid I'm not going to help you, my lady." He jumped backwards about a foot, as though expecting her to attack him.

She raised her eyebrows. Either Rathbourne had been more spooked by her grabbing him than she had thought, or the servants here were a jumpy lot in general. Of course, his confrontation with Rathbourne couldn't have helped his nerves. She started to walk towards the door, wondering if he was going to try to stop her. She looked back.

The butler looked as though tackling a determined B.S.A.A. agent was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. He turned away and made a point of not seeing her.

Jill smiled and continued on. She didn't know that Rathbourne would have gone back to the white parlor, but it was the only lead she had. The route they had taken to get to the room was still solid in her mind, and she began following it. Counting doors and steps as she went to keep on the right path, she became certain that she wasn't supposed to be able to get back there on her own.

_Do you have enemies, Mr. Rathbourne, or was this a special courtesy for the honored members of the B.S.A.A.?_

Although she was on the lookout, no one tried to stop her as she made her way back to the parlor door. She opened it, but the room was empty. Not a single person remained inside. However, the white curtains were still cast to the side, revealing the door. It was made of a very dark wood, with a carved doorknocker in the center, looking very much like the one in the entrance hall, except that it lacked the jeweled eyes.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she muttered.

However, when she could find no other way to open the door, she doubled back to the entrance hall. She looked at the doorknocker, wondering if she really had to take it apart. The servants couldn't possibly do that every time they wanted to get out of that room, after all.

"What is it now?" the butler asked, sounding depressed.

She turned to him. "I'm looking for one of the servants. His name is Horbes; he was attending us in the white parlor room earlier."

"Horbes has returned to his quarters."

"Are you sure?"

He pulled what looked like a personal digital assistant out of his pocket and consulted it. "Yes, he is still there." He showed her the screen. It displayed a list of names, some in green and others in red. He pressed a button, and it disappeared to display a map of the manor. It was divided rather oddly into sections. He pressed another button and outlined Horbes's room in green. "All servants must check in with me before entering or leaving their quarters. I control the doors from here."

_Sounds like an unnecessarily complicated system._

"Can you help me get there?" she asked.

He hesitated, putting the PDA away. "Are you a friend of his?"

"We worked together once," she said, which was technically the truth.

"Horbes is quartered in a room with four other men, all devoted to Mr. Rathbourne. The servants' quarters are accessible only through the passages and the secret way. You will never get into the passages without a key."

Her gaze flicked to the doorknocker again.

He saw where she was looking and shook his head. "Attempt to dismantle that and you will trigger the security system. That would be disastrous for you."

"Why are you helping me?" she asked.

The butler was quiet for a long time, until she thought he wasn't going to answer. Finally, he said, "There are things happening…that I disapprove of."

_He knows_, she realized. _If the G.P.C. has ties to the Organization, he knows about them._ "What things? Tell me what you know."

He stepped away from her with an aghast look on his face. "If I were to betray our secrets, my life would be forfeit at best!"

"We can protect you," she assured him. Warrant or no warrant, if he betrayed the Organization to help them, she'd make sure he left with her and Chris.

"The B.S.A.A. would never grant me asylum… No. I will help you get to Horbes and nothing more. You will take the secret way."

"And what is the secret way?" she asked, giving up. There wasn't enough time to stand arguing with him now.

"Straight ahead two doors, you will reach the grand hall. The statue by the staircase hides a trapdoor. That is all I can tell you, I'm afraid. I have never walked the secret way."

"Thank you. I promise, I'll help you if I can."

For its size, the manor seemed very empty. Jill kept looking around as she walked, her footsteps sounding too loud in the large rooms. Curtains seemed to be everywhere, and she wondered how many had servants—or spies—hiding behind them. When she reached the grand hall, she saw that it was almost entirely taken up by the massive marble staircase. Candelabras sat in the corners and cast their flickering light throughout the room, a red carpet ran from the stairs to each of the doors in the room, and a statue of a multi-headed serpent dominated the space to the left of the stairs.

_Snakes again_? she wondered. This one, though, was a hydra, the mythological beast slain by Heracles. She pushed experimentally on the statue, but as she had expected, it was too heavy to push aside. However, if there was a trapdoor beneath it, there had to be a way.

Studying it, she noticed an inscription carved on the front of the statue. It read: _He who does not understand immortality does not deserve it._

She frowned. _Immortality..._ The hydra, she knew, had seemed impossible to kill at first. When one of its heads was cut off, the stump had to be cauterized to prevent it from growing two new heads in its place. It also had one immortal head, which had been buried under a rock. Now that she took a closer look at the heads, she could see a thin groove running around each one. When she pulled, the first head fell open easily, revealing a shallow depression with a candle in it. The artist had chosen to depict this hydra with nine heads, and she succeeded in opening eight of the nine heads. The final one remained closed against all her efforts to open it.

She looked at the eight thin candles, and then she walked over to one of the candelabras. If anyone walked in, she hoped they would think she knew what she was doing. Since the candelabras themselves were too big to carry, she pulled one of the lit candles free of its holder and took it over to the statue. She lit each one of the hydra's visible stumps, and when the last one was lit, she heard a quiet _thunk_ from the ninth head.

It opened easily now, revealing a button. She pressed it, and the statue shook and slid out of the way, revealing a trapdoor. She pulled it open and found herself looking at a ladder leading down into darkness.

Jill took a moment to get out a handkerchief to hold the candle in, so that wax wouldn't start dripping on her fingers, and then she started down the ladder, taking the candle along for light. She kept alert for anything strange, knowing that they could be guarding this path or that the butler might have betrayed her. However, nothing happened, and she soon was standing at the bottom of a tunnel.

The candle's flame only gave her a little light, and she couldn't see very far ahead. When she started to walk, however, the glint of metal caught her eye. Going to inspect, she saw a golden medallion, partially buried. She uncovered it and saw that it depicted a crowned being that appeared to be part man and part eagle. She put it in her pocket in case it was needed to traverse this secret way.

After she had walked for a while, she reached a cavern that branched off into five separate paths. Walking down each one a short distance, she discovered that they were short tunnels, each going in a different direction, and that each one ended in a locked door with a slot the same size as the medallion she had picked up.

_Five doors, and I only have one medallion._ She assumed there had to be a way to get the medallion back out of the door, if people had come this way before, but trying each one could waste valuable time. Trying to visualize in her mind the map of the manor and her position beneath it, she finally decided that the tunnel two from the left would go in roughly the right direction for reaching Horbes, assuming the butler's map was accurate. She walked down that tunnel, took a deep breath, and then placed the medallion in the door. It shuddered and then opened.

The door led to another tunnel, and from there it was a clear, unobstructed path until she reached a set of stairs. Climbing them, she pushed open the door at the top and stepped out into a stone hallway. Behind her, the door closed and disappeared into the wall, looking as though there was nothing there at all.

The hall was lined with doors, all of which had a small window at the top and a keypad to the side. She walked towards the closest door and peered through. A group of men in blue livery sat together, playing cards. None of them was Horbes, but at least she knew she had found the servants' quarters. She blew out the candle and set it down.

Jill walked quickly through the hall, checking each door and trying to look as though she belonged whenever someone noticed her. The number of people she encountered increased the further she went, some running past without a second glance at her. She wiped her forehead, as it was starting to get warmer.

_Is the kitchen down here?_ she wondered.

Wherever she was approaching, she could tell it was a hub of activity. She slowed and considered going back, since she heard too many voices than would be normal for a group of servants. Then she heard a scream, and she decided she had better check it out anyway. The smell of smoke reached her nostrils, and she broke into a run.

A group of people, mostly servants and some who looked like guards based on their uniforms and weaponry, were clustered around a door. Some were throwing buckets of water in, ineffectually. She could see flames like those of a bonfire. The room had somehow caught fire, despite being primarily made of stone.

"Miss Valentine!" It was Mr. Rathbourne, waving to her from the back of the group, and she felt an icy chill in her blood.

"What happened?" she asked, walking over to him. She noticed he didn't ask what she was doing there, although he seemed—superficially, she was sure—to be concerned about the fire.

"A tragic accident, my dear," he said, shaking his head and mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. "He must attract them. This one, I'm afraid, was fatal."

_No. You didn't. You _didn't.

"It seems that five of our servants, one of whom was your _friend_ Horbes, were trying to cook. Whatever they did, I don't know, but the whole place went up in flames. We're trying to put out the fire, but rescue workers who went in reported that no one survived."

She stared at him, realizing that she was shaking with rage and horror. There was no way this had been an accident. She knew it just as surely as she knew that Horbes had recognized her, if only for a moment. Now Rathbourne had killed him—had either murdered him and then staged an accident or burned him alive. And the other four, four servants devoted to their master, had been killed to complete the act.

"You did this," she whispered, not even caring that she was openly accusing one of the G.P.C.'s directors of murder. "You killed him so that we couldn't take him."

She expected him to deny it in the same blustering way he had denied everything else; she almost hoped he would present enough of a façade that she could retain doubts. Yet Rathbourne leaned towards her, suddenly looking more dangerous and hateful than she had thought possible for him. There was something vile in those eyes, something so bleak and cold that she wondered if she had underestimated him, or if darker forces were at work.

"_Prove it_," he hissed, and then ordered his guards to escort her out of the manor.


	9. Chapter 9: Of Lost Love and Loyalty

Chapter 9: Of Lost Love and Loyalty

Claire sat in the airport waiting for Chris and Jill to arrive, having driven the car there herself. She kept thinking about what had happened the previous day. The bodies of the two people who had followed Ada to the cafe and then destroyed the house were still unidentified, and the police's efforts to trace Ada herself had been useless. She had vanished without a trace, though who she was running from was unclear.

Leon took this as proof that she had wanted to help him and now the Organization was after her. Even he admitted, though, that someone like Ada was bound to have made enemies, and she had drawn attention to herself that morning in the café. Her actions had been too strange to pin down a motive just yet. They hadn't told the others about what had happened, agreeing to save it for the next meeting of the entire team. She hoped things had gone better with the G.P.C.

She saw Chris appear in the crowd and waved to get his attention, but her hopes for good news sank. Both he and Jill had exhausted, grim expressions on their faces. They moved through the crowd quickly to reach her, and she got to her feet.

"I guess it didn't go well?"

Chris looked around at the people passing them. "Let's wait until we're away from the crowd before discussing this."

"Let's meet with the others first," Jill said. "I'd rather not explain what happened more than once."

They worked their way through the crowded airport to get outside, and when they reached the car, Claire unlocked it and hesitated. She didn't think Chris looked like he should be driving. Both of them looked worn out, with dark circles under their eyes. He didn't look like he was going to argue, though, so she got into the driver's seat.

"I never sleep well when traveling," Chris commented, as she pulled out of the parking lot.

"He's being nice," Jill said from the back seat, leaning forward. "The truth is that I had nightmares all night, and so neither of us got much sleep."

She nodded, understanding, although she worried about just how bad their experience had been. What had happened? Was the G.P.C. the Organization? She wanted to ask, but she knew it would be easier on them if she waited for the meeting. She forced herself to keep her curiosity in check.

"Err…"

She glanced over and saw to her bewilderment that Chris was turning bright red. She tried to backtrack through what had been said, wondering what she had missed.

"It was economical and practical," he said. He turned even redder, which she wouldn't have guessed was possible. "I mean, we had two beds."

She stared at him. _Oh, of course… Jill's nightmares could only keep him awake if they were in the same room._ Claire thought of numerous things she could say to tease him but settled for laughing instead. She looked up in the rearview mirror and saw that Jill was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

"Stop laughing!" he protested. "I just didn't want you to think that we… I mean, not that I wouldn't wa—argh…" He trailed off, rubbing his forehead and looking like he wished he hadn't opened his mouth in the first place.

"Are you going to comment on this conversation, Jill?" she asked.

"I don't think there's much I can say," she replied. She sounded amused and—unless it was just Claire's imagination after thinking for years that they should get together—somewhat pleased. "Chris is digging a hole quite well on his own."

Chris turned on the radio, possibly to drown them out, since they had both started laughing. He continued to listen to the radio for the entire ride home, although Claire had long since calmed down and she was pretty sure Jill had fallen asleep. She patted her brother affectionately on the arm as she pulled into the driveway. Sometimes, he just worried too much. He'd walk the length of the world over hot coals for Jill, and everyone knew it.

_And she'd give her life for him._ She looked back as she parked. Jill looked almost like a ghost, with that blonde hair and pale skin, so different from how she had looked when they first met. At least she looked peaceful now; when she was awake, her eyes rarely lost their haunted look.

She got out of the car, as did Chris. Seeing that Jill was sleeping soundly for once, Chris walked around to the backseat, opening the door and picking her up gently. He stared down at her with his heart in his eyes, and Claire hastily went to unlock the door to the house. Now she was the one feeling embarrassed.

One thing she had to admit was that seeing him like this was a lot better than when he had thought Jill was dead. Then, there had been times when he was so distant that he had seemed like a stranger.

"You should rest before the meeting," she said, once they were all in the house. She set the keys down on the table.

"No." Jill stirred, struggling against Chris's arms for a moment before realizing it was him. "We need to talk about what happened."

She looked at Chris, and he nodded helplessly. "I'll call the others," she sighed, going to the phone as they headed for the living room.

Barry answered on the first ring. "Are they back? Is there news?"

"Yes. Could you come over here?"

"I'm on it!" He hung up the phone, and she suspected he was on his way out the door before she had started dialing the next number. With his family still at an undisclosed location with the others, he seemed very bored.

She called Leon next, and he sounded pleased to hear they were going to be meeting. "We'll let them share their news first, and then we'll tell them about Ada. All right?"

"All right."

Sheva had very little to say other than to agree to come right away, but Kirsty made up for it by talking for so long that Claire finally suggested that they continue the conversation at the house and hung up.

"Well," she said, going into the living room, "everyone's…" She stopped, seeing that they had both fallen asleep on the couch.

_Everyone's on the way._

xXx

"It's bad news, isn't it?" Leon asked, sitting down beside Claire at the meeting table.

"I think so," she whispered back. "I don't know what happened, but it definitely wasn't good."

"Great."

Kirsty walked in along with the other two, asking, "Why does Chris always get to sit at the head of the table?" She sat down next to Leon.

"Because he's the man!" was Barry's enthusiastic response, as he sat beside Jill and clapped her on the shoulder. "It's good to see the both of you back! How was it?" She just looked at him, and he slumped. "Oh."

Sheva sat in the next chair, raising her eyebrows at Barry. Leon looked like they were already giving him a headache.

"Well," Chris said, seeing that they were all settled, "our meeting didn't go quite as well as we could have hoped. Mr. Rathbourne said he knew nothing that could help us, was generally unhelpful, and even indicated he thought the attacks were a good thing."

"See?" Kirsty jumped out of her seat, her voice going high and shrill. "I told you they were up to no good! They're the Organization! They're vile, evil people!"

He stared at her. He looked far too tired to deal with her outbursts. "_Sit down._"

She sat and looked at the table, mumbling something that Claire couldn't hear but which made Sheva give her a shocked look.

"I argued with him about that," Chris said, resuming his report, "but we didn't get very far. Something more important came up."

"There was a man there." Jill stared straight ahead as she spoke, not even meeting Claire's eyes across from her. "I recognized him. He used to be with the H.C.F. He worked for Wesker."

Claire saw Sheva lean closer to hear better, looking worried, and Kirsty's head snapped up. A deathly tension seemed to have filled the room.

"I tried to speak with him. There was something wrong with him…he spoke like a madman. His mind…was broken. Rathbourne said it was an accident with some sort of drug that did it, but I don't believe it. He recognized me; he was asking me to help him! I don't have proof, but I feel sure that…someone _did_ that to him."

Kirsty buried her face in her hands with a horrified squeak.

"Or maybe it was an accident," Jill continued, narrowing her eyes. "Maybe they were trying to do something else, and it went wrong. We'll never know now, because Rathbourne insisted we get a _warrant_ to take him with us, and then he had the man killed! He as good as admitted it to me!"

"You sound pretty upset," Barry said. "Come on, everyone messes up sometimes. At least we know something's suspicious, right?"

But looking at Jill, Claire didn't think that had anything to do with it. She wasn't upset because they didn't know what the G.P.C.—or the Organization, or the H.C.F., or whoever had been behind it—had done to this man. She was upset that they had done it at all, and that they had killed him because of it.

"You pity him." It wasn't a question, but Kirsty's tone had a marveling note in it. She had lifted her head and now was staring at Jill. "I could tell from your tone when you told us who he was that he wasn't a friend of yours. Perhaps…he even was an enemy? Yet, you pity him."

"I hated him until I spoke to him," she admitted. Her voice was bitter. "I wanted revenge on him. But he was just a shell of who he had been, and it was horrible. Even he...didn't deserve that. He wanted help. He _needed_ help. And I failed him."

Kirsty looked as though she thought failing to help one of your enemies was no great loss to bear, but she didn't say anything.

"Well, we still have no real leads, although the G.P.C. definitely seems suspicious," Chris sighed. "This is very…troubling. I was trying not to believe that they could be the Organization, but if they are, what does this mean for the B.S.A.A.?" He rubbed his face. "I know I mentioned that they helped wipe out Uroboros. What if they kept a sample?"

"They're crazy, not stupid," Kirsty muttered under her breath.

Claire glanced over at her, and Chris and Sheva raised their eyebrows.

She looked up and flushed. Fiddling with the sleeves of her dress, she said, "I mean… From what I read, it seemed, well…uncontrollable. I've studied the Organization's methods. Even they would know better than to weaponize Uroboros."

"It's still a possibility," Chris told her grimly, ignoring her when she rolled her eyes. He hesitated and then said, "Well... I guess that's that, for now."

"No, actually…" Leon cleared his throat. "There are a few other things that happened."

"Oh?"

So Leon explained about the disastrous attempt to meet with Ada and how he was suspicious of the way she had acted, thinking that she hadn't really wanted to shoot him. He explained about tracking the signal and about how they had gone looking for the house she had contacted him from—at this part, Barry, Sheva, and Kirsty began giving him and Claire curious glances, and she felt herself turning red.

"What did you find out?" Kirsty asked. She looked like she was about to leap up from the table again.

"I'm getting there," Leon said, frowning at her.

He told them all about the mysterious strangers who had entered the house and blown it up, and about the futile car chase that had ended with them killing themselves. He told them about how the police had no information yet, and about how Ada had completely disappeared.

"It's definitely connected to what's been happening," he finished, "although we still don't know how to find the Organization or what they're up to."

"We're still only assuming the Organization is to blame," Sheva pointed out. "We don't even have proof of that, yet."

"It sounds like you were in a lot of danger," Chris said. Theoretically he was speaking to both of them, but he was looking directly at Claire.

"I can take care of myself," she protested, frowning right back.

"She can," Leon asserted. "That's why I wanted her there to watch my back."

She grinned at him, and he smiled back.

"I don't think any of us should be going off half-cocked," Chris said, shaking his head. "At least not until we know what we're up against." He rubbed his head, looking utterly worn out. "I think that's enough for today."

As the meeting broke up, he turned to Jill and started to talk to her about what had happened. Claire wanted to join the conversation, particularly to tell her that she understood how she was feeling, but a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her out of her chair.

"What is it?" she asked Kirsty, once the other woman had pulled her a good distance from the table. Leon was standing near the door, discussing something with Sheva, and Barry looked like he was trying to get in on the conversation between Chris and Jill.

Kirsty looked around and then leaned forward, braids swinging. "Okay, this time you're not going to pretend there's nothing there, are you?"

Claire stared at her, raising her eyebrows. She couldn't imagine what this was about, and she indicated as much.

The other woman rolled her eyes. "You and, um, Leon. You seem to work very well together, if you know what I mean."

_Oh, it's this again._ "No, I don't know what you mean," she said, smiling politely and attempting to walk away.

Kirsty caught her arm again. "Wait! I know… I know he's attracted to that… Umm… Ada Wong. Really though, the two of you together… You have _chemistry_! Maybe if he forgot about her, and realized she wasn't right for him, he might, you know, come around."

Staring into her earnest expression, Claire was taken aback. "I don't feel that way about him, either, though."

"What? You don't?" She slumped, looking downfallen. "I thought… Sorry…"

"It's all right," she sighed.

"Is there anyone? I mean, a boyfriend or a crush, or something like that?"

She opened her mouth to say no, when Steve Burnside's face flew into her mind and sent a pang through her heart. "Why do you care?" she asked instead.

Kirsty shrunk back. "I—I'm sorry. I just wanted to…chitchat."

_Chitchat?_ Claire stared at her lonely face and remembered what she had said about wanting to be accepted. "Oh, fine. Come with me; I'll show you a picture of him."

"Really?" Her face lit up, and she lifted the hem of her dress enough to let her scamper out of the room and up the stairs behind her.

Most of the things she had brought to Chris's house were practical, the sorts of things one took when they were going to be away from home for a while. A few, however, were personal. They were things she kept in the drawer of the nightstand to look at when she needed to, and one of them was the picture of Steve Burnside. She went there as soon as they entered the room, reaching into the drawer for the picture. She sat on the floor by the nightstand, looking at it.

It wasn't a photograph, of course. Rebecca Chambers had drawn it, based on Claire's description, shortly before moving away and breaking almost all contact with them. Claire missed her, but she said she had been through too much and just wanted to get away. The drawing was fairly accurate, showing the redheaded boy with a slight smile on his face. Just looking it brought to mind her reluctant ally on Rockfort Island who had come to love her before dying.

_And I came to love him._

She held the picture against her heart for a moment before showing it to Kirsty, who was leaning over her shoulder. "His name is Steve."

"Steve," she repeated. "Why have I never met him?"

"He…died," she whispered softly.

"What? I…I'm so sorry!"

"He might come back, though!" she said fiercely, pulling the picture to her chest again. She couldn't give up on him. Though it had been years, her few attempts to become interested in someone else had failed, always coming up against the unyielding wall that was her memory of their time together.

"Come back…from the dead?" Kirsty squeaked. She edged away slightly.

Claire managed a sad smile. "He was infected with a virus before he died, and the H.C.F. took his body. Wesker…suggested he could be revived, or something like that; I don't quite remember anymore."

But that was false, because she didn't want to admit just how hard she had clung to that hope. In actuality, the words he had spoken to Chris were burned into her memory.

_Maybe he'll come back alive, just as I did…and be able to see your sister again._

"When did it happen?"

"Thirteen years ago," she whispered. It had been so long. He never had come back. There never was a sign that anyone even remembered who Steve Burnside was, except for her and the people she confided in. People eyed Leon askance for his love of Ada, but wasn't her love that much more impossible? Yet she felt in her heart that she could never give up on him, not as long as the possibility of his return remained.

_Maybe he'll come back alive, just as I did…_

"Thirteen years…" Kirsty sounded incredulous. "You've waited thirteen years for someone who's _dead_…because of a throwaway line said by your _enemy_?"

She looked up, blinking away sudden tears that blurred her vision. "I love him! I'll wait forever, if I have to!"

"You can't be serious!"

She looked away, crying into her hands as the memory of Steve's mutation and death hit her with full force. And after that, there had been the days, which had become weeks, which had become years, during which she had wondered if he would ever return…

"You… You _are_ serious! I… Oh…"

She heard Kirsty leave and close the door, and she was glad to be alone. She suddenly felt so lonely and so hopeless. _Thirteen years…_ She missed Steve, wished they had had more time to get to know each other, and ached for him in her heart. She had realized her love for him too late. Kirsty was right; he was never coming back.

She took a deep, shaky breath and tried to compose herself. She had lived with this long enough now. She could handle it. Her eyes fell on the picture, still clutched in her hands, and the tears rose up in her again. Sobbing, she rocked back and forth with the picture held against her, wishing she could scream loudly enough to tell the world about her pain.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, alone with her memories and loneliness. She heard footsteps going by her door and tried to quiet down; she hoped they'd keep going and was dismayed when they stopped. She didn't want company right now. She wanted to be alone.

A gentle knock came at the door. "Claire?" It was Chris, sounding worried. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" she choked out, trying to wipe her eyes even though the tears kept coming.

The door opened, and Chris walked in. He took one look at her and sat down on the floor beside her, putting his arm around her. "What is it?"

She shook her head, not wanting to explain and have him see how foolish she was, like Kirsty had. He took her hand, pulling it towards him so that he could see what she was holding. She saw him look at the picture of Steve, but she squeezed her eyes shut before he could look at her.

"Oh, Claire…"

Her tears surged up again, and she tried to pull away from him, but he didn't let her go.

"I understand, Claire. I really, really do."

"Go away, Chris," she sobbed.

"Can't I be here for my sister when she needs me?"

His concern was so sincere that she leaned against him, letting him hold her as she cried. "It's been th-thirteen years," she said between sobs. "And K-Kirsty said that I c-couldn't be serious…waiting for someone d-dead, just because of what W-W-Wesker said."

"It's been a long time," he agreed kindly, "but only you can say what you feel, Claire. Maybe Kirsty has never loved."

Crying into her brother's shoulder, Claire thought about that. She started to feel calmer just considering it. Maybe one day she would accept that Steve was never going to come back, but until then, she would wait for him.

After they had sat there for a few moments, she looked up. "Chris?" she asked. "If it had been thirteen years…would you still have looked—and waited—for Jill?"

He looked at her and then past her, looking out at something that only he could see. "Forever," he whispered softly. "Forever."


	10. Chapter 10: Fallen

Chapter 10: Fallen

It was the afternoon of the next day, and Jill was finally starting to feel better. She was still upset over what had happened, as well as being worried about Rathbourne's butler, but it no longer haunted her as strongly as it had the day before. Since they had agreed to simply wait until they had more information before acting, she was dressed casually, sitting on Chris's couch and watching TV. He and Claire were in the kitchen attempting to make a pizza from scratch. From time to time the sound of their voices drifted to her, and she got the impression they were having a friendly disagreement over what to do with the dough.

She smiled sadly. This was how it should be—peaceful and happy—but without the threat that this peace could be shattered at a moment's notice.

As if hearing her thoughts, the phone rang.

"Hello?" Chris answered. "What? No, no one called me… I'll see if I can get in touch with any of them. Yeah, you probably should come, just in case." He hung up.

"What is it?" Jill called out, muting the television.

"Sheva got a phone call from the West African branch of the B.S.A.A., where she's normally stationed," he responded, while dialing. "She couldn't make out what they were saying and then the connection was lost, and she hasn't been able to get in touch with them since."

He waited with the phone for a while, and then he hung up. "Maybe their phone lines are down," he said without conviction. "I better call our headquarters and let them know that they should check it out."

Jill got up and walked to the kitchen while he called. Claire was no longer paying any attention to the pizza dough and was watching Chris with a worried expression.

"No answer," he said, hanging up.

_This isn't good_, she thought, feeling her stomach tighten with worry.

The phone rang, and Chris snatched it up. "Hello?" His shoulders slumped slightly. "Oh. No, I couldn't get through, either, and no one answered at the North American branch. I thought you were—gone? What do you mean he's gone?"

Jill met Claire's eyes across the room. This definitely wasn't good.

"You don't know where he went? _What?_ Okay, just bring Kirsty over here, and I'll get in touch with Barry. I'll try to call some of the other branches." He hung up and turned to them. "Leon isn't at the hotel. He left a note saying that he thought he had a lead on Ada's location, and that he didn't want to take anyone else into danger with him."

"He can take care of himself," Claire said. "He's been in plenty of dangerous situations without someone there to watch his back."

"I know," Chris sighed. "This is just really bad timing. I better call Barry."

But there was no answer at Barry's, and Jill had the sudden feeling that someone was watching them, waiting to swoop down upon them when they were at their most vulnerable.

_That's crazy._

He returned to trying to contact the B.S.A.A., and when he failed two more times, his worried expression changed to one of panic. "They couldn't have attacked every one of our headquarters, could they?"

"They've shown they're capable of coordinating such a thing," Jill reminded him grimly. "Don't forget that last time, they hit thousands of targets almost simultaneously."

He shook his head, and then the phone rang again. "Hello? Sheva, haven't you left yet? What?" He put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, "Kirsty says we need to put on the news."

Jill ran back to the living room, put the sound back on, and changed the channel. Claire was right behind her. The news station featured a harried-looking reporter standing somewhere where it was night, and people were screaming somewhere behind her. Huge letters across the bottom said: _Bioterrorists Strike Italian Village._ Making out shapes in the darkness was difficult, but she could see the silhouettes of people running from monstrous-looking creatures, all of which were twisted and deformed.

"Nosferatu."

"What?" she asked, but Claire just shook her head as the reporter began speaking.

"The monsters seem to be people who have injected themselves with what is known as the T-Veronica virus. Due to its unpredictable and destructive mutations when used this way, it is unbelievable that anyone—let alone multiple people—would infect themselves, but that seems to be the truth of the matter."

_I'd bet anything they were strangers dressed in H.C.F. uniforms_, she thought darkly as a figure shambled past behind the reporter. It would have looked humanoid, if not for the too-long—they couldn't be limbs, not placed like that—_things_ coming out of its body.

"Many people here already survived one attack, having fled from the city to our north, where it is believed the Gionnes were attacked for the crimes of their granddaughter. This time, an anonymous message was delivered just before the mutations began, letting us know what our 'punishment' is for this time."

A picture of a young blonde woman appeared on the screen, and Claire let out a small gasp.

"The town was accused of harboring Sherry Birkin, daughter of the late scientists William and Annette Birkin. Birkin was believed by many to have died in the attack targeting her, although her body was not found. This attack has shed a new light on things, suggesting that the terrorists, at least, believe she is alive. People have been wondering when we can expect the presence of the B.S.A.—argh!"

Jill turned the set off as the monster attacked, not wanting to see the reporter be killed. Chris had come into the room while they were watching, and now he was shaking his head. There didn't seem to be any words to react appropriately with. A knock came at the door, and Claire ran to let in Sheva and Kirsty.

"We can't waste any time," Chris said as soon as they were all in the same room. "We need to find out what happened to the rest of the B.S.A.A., but if something _has_ happened to them, we need to get help to that village, too. We have to split up." Jill began arming herself, handing weapons to the others as she did so. She even passed a gun to Kirsty, who took it as though it were an angry scorpion.

"I spoke to Josh," Sheva said. "He doesn't know what's going on either, but he's increased the defense on everyone he's protecting. He's also begun searching for Rebecca Chambers and anyone else he thinks they might try to use against us."

"Good."

"Where's Barry?" Kirsty asked, having been looking around while they were talking.

"We can't get in touch with him," Chris said grimly.

She drew away, looking horrified.

"Claire, you've seen this uncontrolled form of the virus before, and I've seen its advanced version. I want you to come to Italy with me."

She nodded.

"Sheva, Jill, you two need to find out what's happening at the B.S.A.A. headquarters, all right?"

She also nodded, heart pounding, and turned to Sheva. Chris and Claire started for the door, and they were halfway there when Kirsty let out a scream, freezing everyone in place.

"You can't leave me alone!" she cried, looking like she might collapse on the spot. "Can't you see what's happening? Leon was lured away, Barry has gone missing, and now everyone else is leaving! They're separating us, and I don't want to be the one who's attacked because no one was here to help me! I don't know how to fight!"

"Kirsty," Chris began, raising his hands in a placating gesture, but she shook her head furiously.

"Maybe it doesn't bother you to send Claire, or Sheva, or Jill into a place where they might never come back, but I never gave you the right to put _my_ life in danger!"

He stared at her, looking as though he had been struck with a sledgehammer. "Fine," he whispered. "Maybe you're right. I won't put anyone else in danger; I'll fight our enemies myself!" He turned and strode out of the house.

"Chris!" Claire shouted, running after him. "Wait! I'm coming, remember?"

Jill stared after them, feeling numb with shock. She wasn't sure if she should be angry with Kirsty for saying such things, or alarmed that Chris had reacted in the way he had.

Sheva put a hand on her shoulder. "Her words struck deep. He still worries all the time, you know, that he isn't strong enough to protect you."

_Did it ever occur to him that I don't _need_ protection? I never did before. What happened to him thinking I was strong? _"Maybe it would have been better if he had never found me," she said bitterly, turning away. "Then he wouldn't have to worry."

Her grip on her shoulder tightened. "Don't, Jill. Don't say things like that. I met him before we found you, remember? He needs you."

Of course she remembered, and she already regretted saying that. She knew, deep inside, that Chris would take on all the worries of the world to keep the people he loved with him.

"In dark times like this," Sheva whispered, "we need to trust one another and remain united."

"I know," Jill sighed. "I'm sorry… Look, I'll head for the North American branch's HQ; you stay here with Kirsty so she doesn't freak out."

"Are you sure? I can go."

"I'm sure." She lowered her voice. "After what just happened, I might strangle her if I'm the one who stays. Good luck."

Sheva gave her a worried smile. "I think you're the one who's going to need luck."

Given the circumstances, she had to agree.

xXx

For a while, as she had driven her car out of the town and looked up at the clear, sunny sky, she had been able to convince herself that nothing was wrong. All of the phone lines were down for all of the B.S.A.A. headquarters, in some bizarre coincidence. It was actually their phone, with some fluke that had allowed them to connect with the hotel. Everyone was out to dinner—or breakfast, or lunch, or a midnight snack—at the same time.

When she saw the flames, she stopped grasping at straws and got out of the car.

The grass was on fire in almost a complete circle surrounding the lot, and it was with difficulty that she finally made it through and approached her destination. Located off the main roads so that they could perform training exercises in the nearby fields, as well as have a measure of secrecy when needed, a proud building had once stood on this lot, one of several heralding the start of the B.S.A.A. as an official organization.

Now there was a crater.

Only rubble remained of the building itself, and the land around it had been destroyed. They hadn't even bothered to use bioweapons here. They had simply blown it up. It seemed somehow out of character for their enemies—and yet, it also seemed more practical. They weren't trying to cause fear here; they were trying to get an obstacle out of their way.

Jill shivered at the cold pragmatism of the thought, feeling as though she had gotten an unwelcome glimpse into their enemies' minds.

_I don't want to have anything to do with other people's minds._

It was something she worried about at times, that she would fall under someone's control again, maybe without realizing it was happening, or that she would discover the drug somehow had not entirely left her system and was just waiting for her to slip up, or that she would open her eyes and see Wesker step out of the shadows and find out that it had all been a dream, that she hadn't been freed…

_Stop it._

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Sometimes, the thing that frightened her the most was her own fear.

_If I lose touch with reality, that's as good as losing control._

She shivered again despite the heat of the flames encircling the area, and then she started to investigate more closely. There were bodies all around, some of people she recognized and some of strangers. Most were broken and battered, some blackened and twisted, all victims of the explosion that had destroyed the building.

She thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, like someone fleeing. She turned to look, but no one was there. There was, however, a sizable enough pile of rubble that they could be hiding.

"Hello?" she called. There was no answer, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. It was probably nothing. It was probably her imagination.

All the same, she heightened her guard even further.

She continued to walk through the disaster site—taking a good look behind that pile of rubble only to see that no one was there, although she knew that anyone hiding could have moved by the time she got there to look—feeling numb in response to what had happened. It was hard to comprehend, and it filled her with fear for the other headquarters.

One of the bodies caught her attention as being different from the rest. She knelt beside it and frowned. While she had seen plenty of blood here, this person's throat had been cut. As she stood up, she caught a flicker of movement again.

"I know you're there!" she called, looking around with narrowed eyes. She still saw no one but the dead, and no answer came.

_They're separating us…_

As angry as Kirsty's words had made her, the woman did have a point. The timing was too suspicious. Two major attacks coming at the same time that Leon left and Barry disappeared, forcing the rest of them to split up…

Jill pulled out her gun and continued walking.

She found more of the unusual bodies as she went, one with a stab wound in the heart, one whose stomach had been slashed, one whose blood trail was very suggestive of a struggle… Her police training as a member of S.T.A.R.S. began to form a theory based on what she saw, recreating the events of this attack…

The Organization, with its vast resources, blew up the building, either bombing it from above or detonating explosives that had been set inside. After that, someone was sent to the site to make sure the job was complete. Searching for survivors, this agent would have located every person who hadn't died in the blast and trapped them, quickly dispatching them with a knife…

This time, she knew it was movement, and she whirled around in time to see the fluttering edge of a dark gray cloak as it disappeared behind the rubble.

Two could play at that game. Jill ducked down, circling around in the other direction and using the rubble to hide herself. With any luck, the other person—a survivor or the murderer?—was expecting her to keep going the same way she had been walking. It was a short distance, and when she got to the other side of the rubble, she saw her foe.

Even after all she had seen, she felt her breath catch in her throat and her heart nearly stop beating.

It was not the appearance itself that made her freeze as the figure turned around to stare around her. Although red eyes seemed to glare at her from beneath the gray hood, she knew it was only an effect of the mask. The dark material fell nearly to the ground, and the beaked mask would not have looked out of place on a fourteenth century plague doctor. It was a familiar image, an image from her past, for that was exactly how Wesker had disguised her while she was under his control.

Taken aback by the surrealism of the confrontation, Jill faltered. The cloaked figure leaped forward to take advantage of her distraction, kicking the gun from her hand, knocking her back, and vaulting over her head. Jill recovered in time to see—him? her?—take off in a sprint.

Trying to ignore all of the questions that were competing with nightmare memories for precedence in her mind, Jill picked up her gun and started running after the cloaked figure.

_Questions can wait until I've caught her,_ she instructed her spiraling mind, unconsciously deciding on a gender to think of the figure as. _She should be able to provide the answers._

The figure raced into what had once been a section of the building, with Jill in pursuit. She saw broken bodies, sparking wires, and various oddities that had managed to survive the destruction. Jumping over a chair that had remained untouched when everything around it was blasted to pieces, she ran faster.

They raced across the uneven ground, over the slopes and rocky ledges of the crater, with the figure occasionally pausing to knock something into her path. Dodging to the left to avoid a large rock that had been rolled in front of her, Jill raised her gun and wondered if she should shoot.

The fires were still raging madly, consuming the surrounding area, as they approached. The cloaked figure was heading straight for them, as though flames were no deterrent. Whether it was running through the flames or leaping over them, Jill knew she wouldn't be able to follow the same way. It was now or never.

She raised her gun to fire just as one cloaked arm swung backwards, flinging something in her direction. She recognized the flash grenade just as it struck the ground; she dove to the side and raised her hands to shield her face. The light was blinding, and when she looked up again, her adversary was gone.

The fire was too hot to approach, and she ran parallel to it until she found away through. It was useless, however. The cloaked figure had vanished as surely as if she had been a phantom.


	11. Chapter 11: T Veronica Unleashed

Chapter 11: T-Veronica Unleashed

"Chris?" Claire called, when he marched right past the car and kept going down the sidewalk. She hoped he wasn't so angry that he intended to walk to the airport.

He stopped, realizing what he had done, and turned back. He got into the car without a word to her and put the key in the ignition. She got in quickly, afraid that in his current state, he might try to drive off without her. He was glaring at the dashboard as though it were somehow to blame for what was happening.

_I haven't seen him like this in a long time._

"Chris?" she asked, and although he didn't acknowledge her, she continued on anyway. "Don't let what Kirsty said hurt you like this. None of this is your fault."

"You're coming whether I like it or not, aren't you?" he asked in a flat voice.

She didn't remind him that he had asked her to. "I'm not letting you face those monsters alone."

He started to pull out of the driveway, still not looking at her.

"She only said it to get her way; you know that, don't you? It's our choice to get involved, Chris. You aren't _sending_ us into danger. I wouldn't be coming with you if I didn't feel the need to help those people."

He started driving out of town, staring ahead at the road. From his expression, he might not even have been listening.

"Chris! None of us would want the Organization to win because you were too afraid to let us go into danger." She hesitated, wondering if she knew what was really bothering him, still hanging over him after all this time. "What happened at the Spencer Estate wasn't your fault."

He slammed his hand against the dashboard and swore under his breath. "I know that, Claire! That doesn't change a thing. I somehow became the leader of this little team, and so if anyone dies, the responsibility _will_ rest with me! That's part of what being a leader is about! You care for the people on your team, you accept responsibility for the consequences of your orders, you…you…"

"You have to send them into dangerous situations anyway," Claire said quietly.

He sighed. "What if she's right, though? What if, somewhere along the way during my fight against Umbrella, and Wesker, and the Organization, and whoever else…what if I stopped caring?"

She looked at him, realizing that he was seriously worried about this. "You didn't," she assured him. "If you had stopped caring, you wouldn't be this upset now."

He took a deep breath, and the pain in his face eased somewhat. "Maybe you're right... You know we aren't going to be in time to help that village, don't you? By the time we get to Italy, it will be too late."

She stared out at the cars passing them in the other direction, thinking of how strange it was that many of these people didn't yet realize that the world was falling apart. "I know. But we have to do what we can."

xXx

By the time they arrived, it was daytime in Italy. They had gotten on a plane only because of Chris's credentials with the B.S.A.A.; regular traffic to that part of the world had been shut down due to the rampaging B.O.W.s. The news coming out of Italy was jumbled and confused, with the only clear things being that the government had been evacuated and that the governments of surrounding countries had sent in special forces to try to contain the monsters.

They had discovered that the best way to dispatch the monsters—which Claire and Chris had taken to calling the Nosferatu, in the plural, after the name given to Alexander Ashford's mutated form—was to shoot them in their exposed hearts. In this way, most reports agreed that they had so far prevented the monsters from crossing the country's borders.

However, the world in general seemed to be in a state of panic. From the bits and pieces they heard, they soon realized that something had definitely happened to the B.S.A.A. Claire caught phrases like "the remnants" and "those who escaped" and "another international crisis."

_That's why it was peaceful for so long,_ she thought with a shudder. _They were setting up plans so that they could eliminate their enemies._

From above as the plane approached, Italy looked like it had been hit by a war. Cities were in ruins, roads had been torn up, and fires raged everywhere, though some looked to be placed as strategic efforts by special forces. The damage seemed to be a mix of that caused by the Nosferatu and that caused by attempts to stop them.

"I'm not landing down there," the pilot warned them.

Chris grimaced and stood up, Claire following with even less enthusiasm. They had put on parachutes before leaving, anticipating that they might be jumping to their destination. She checked it one final time to make sure everything seemed to be in order.

The pilot said something into his radio, listened for a moment, and then called back, "They're having trouble near the Austrian border."

"Take us there, then."

They flew for a few more tense minutes, having been fairly close to the site already. When the pilot announced that they were there, the Redfields walked over to the door. It opened, and Claire flinched at the sight of the ground so far away.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Chris asked, shouting to be heard over the sound of the plane's engines.

"I'm not backing out now," she assured him, swallowing hard.

He jumped first, and then she followed. Momentarily alarmed by the sensation of falling, Claire squeezed her eyes shut. She breathed a sigh of relief upon feeling her parachute activate. She tucked her chin in and bent her knees, falling for a while before realizing that she would need her eyes open to know when she was approaching land.

The place they were landing was close to the fighting, but fortunately not so close that they would be in danger as soon as they hit the ground. When her feet struck the ground, she threw herself to the side, trying to land the way Chris had instructed her to to avoid injury.

Having already landed, Chris ran over to her to see if she was all right.

"I'm fine," she said, although her right arm was tingling from being jolted during her landing. She accepted his help in getting up. "Let's go."

They had each brought a sniper rifle for this mission, and as soon as they had run close enough, Claire dropped into a crouch and aimed at the heart of a Nosferatu threatening a group of Austrian soldiers. She saw the heart in her sights and fired; the monster crumpled to the ground as the lethal blow struck.

"Watch out!" Chris shouted, and she jumped out of the way just as a huge arm snatched at the space where she had been standing. During the chaos with the T-Veronica virus, the creatures known as Bandersnatches had been released.

They, more than the Nosferatu, were causing most of the problems. While the Nosferatu's weak point had been revealed, the soldiers were still having difficulty with these other abominations, which kept using their arms to pull themselves in and out of danger, while destroying everyone within their reach.

Chris and Claire helped to bolster the border until it looked relatively stable. They didn't speak the same language as the soldiers, but the objective here didn't really require any words to understand: kill B.O.W.s before they kill you.

Working together, it started to go more easily. Claire got out her handgun for handling the Bandersnatches, knifing them when they got too close and dodging when they tried to attack. The Nosferatu were far fewer in number, and as long as there weren't too many Bandersnatches around her at the moment, she could usually get in a good shot. Dodging their poison was a trickier matter, and she soon found that that had her running more than even the Bandersnatches.

One of the Austrian soldiers conveyed through broken English that while the antidote for the Nosferatu's poison had been delivered, no one knew exactly where it was anymore. The majority of the people who had been poisoned had died, with others still dying.

_This isn't just about Sherry,_ Claire realized, as a soldier to her right had his skull crushed by a Bandersnatch, a horrific display that made her feel sick. _This is a display of power._

The minutes dragged on, and before long she was exhausted, covered in grime, sweat, and blood, although most of it belonged to others. They were making progress, however. The number of Bandersnatches had fallen, with only a few stragglers still within sight. A lone Nosferatu was still attacking their group, but the Austrian captain took it out with a single shot to the heart.

"Come on," Chris said, stumbling over to her. A cut was bleeding on the side of his face, but he just wiped the blood away and gave it a distracted look. "We've got to see if any other areas need help, or if there are any civilians still alive."

Claire nodded. They started out, crossing what looked like it had once been a street, but then they saw someone coming towards them. Chris stopped, and she tensed, wondering if it was another monster. To her surprise, however, the figure was waving a white flag. As it came closer, it resolved into a man dressed in black, armed but seeming generally unconcerned about what was happening.

"You have seen what we are doing," he said, speaking in such a casual tone that he might have been talking about the weather or a game of cards. "You could never stop us. You let us gain power and reach. We have resources you cannot understand. We have infiltrated. We are in your governments, your towns…your homes. Look around at those you trust, and you will see that you no longer trust them."

"The uniform," Chris whispered, nodding at the speaker. "He's H.C.F."

"Do not hide those we are seeking. Do not aid the remnants of your B.S.A.A. Pretend this is not happening, and you will be safer for it." The man pulled out a wicked-looking dagger, twirling it almost absently. "We have something more dangerous now than any bio-organic weapon. We have a vision."

And with that, he raised the dagger high with the blade pointed towards himself, and drove it deep into his heart.

Claire yelled and jumped forward, but the man was already dead when he hit the ground. The soldiers, who just moments before had seemed almost relaxed, where now muttering nervously amongst themselves. Chris was staring at the fallen man with an unreadable look on his face.

_Another suicide. Is this another attempt to spread fear? Is the Organization trying to tell us that they are so powerful that these highly trained forces are expendable?_

"Come on," Chris said finally, and they continued on in the direction they had been going before the man's approach.

There was little they saw anywhere to lift their moods. They passed the bodies of refugees who had been killed while trying to escape; they had died of poisoning. They found a town where the bodies littered the streets like debris, although the monsters had already been driven out. They had to fight another Nosferatu, finding it standing over a squad of soldiers who had died together by its hands.

When the monster finally fell, Claire felt depression descending upon her.

"This is terrible," she whispered, even knowing she was stating the obvious.

"They've gone crazy," Chris said. "Either that or they really are powerful enough that keeping their activities a secret doesn't matter anymore."

_Except that we still haven't been able to track them._

He seemed to be thinking the same thing. "We need to look into G.P.C. more," he muttered. "If they really are the Organization, we need to know, and time is running out."

They found another group of special forces, these being a team from France, who needed a little more help securing their area. It seemed like a spooky form of déjà vu when Claire turned away from the last monster and saw a black-clad man walking towards them, waving a white flag.

By the time he had finished delivering his warning message, Claire had alarm bells going off in her mind. Even knowing what was coming, she didn't try to stop him as he stabbed himself in the heart. She was frozen, because his speech to these soldiers had been exactly the same as the other man's. Word for word, intonation for intonation, gesture for gesture—there had not been even the slightest deviation.

And that just made the H.C.F. seem all the less human, giving their warnings even more weight.

xXx

They found a group of civilian survivors who had not yet been evacuated huddled together in a partially buried structure that had acted as a bunker for the family it belonged to and their neighbors. Chris spoke with the few who had taken charge about what was happening outside, while Claire walked around and tried to console the terrified survivors.

It wasn't exactly a house, as the woman who owned it had explained, in accented but understandable English. It was a basement, albeit one finished and divided into rooms. The house had been knocked down years ago and rebuilt off to the side, but they had kept the old basement intact and accessible due to too many fond memories associated with it. As weird as that was, it had saved their lives.

The electricity was out, but several people had lit candles, revealing rooms with thin carpeting, antique furniture, and peeling walls. Wooden doors led from room to room, although all were currently open, as everyone wanted reassurance that the others were all right.

Since she didn't speak Italian, Claire found it hard to communicate with the people. She tried to be a reassuring presence anyway, and she assured those few who understood English that they would do everything they could do help them. They then reassured the others, although many remained unconvinced.

_Terra Save will send help,_ she told herself, hoping that they hadn't also been attacked the way the B.S.A.A. had. She couldn't be the only one left.

Lost in her thoughts, disturbed by worries of what might be happening, the faces of the people started to blur together as she tried to speak to them. As a result, she was very surprised when someone addressed her by name.

"Claire? Is that you?"

She looked around for the speaker, and then her eyes widened. With a few exceptions, it was the last person she had expected to see here. "Barry?" she asked in amazement. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked. "I'm hiding from the monsters. Are the others here?"

"Chris came," she said, and he followed her out of the room—accompanied by the curious whispering of the other survivors—back to the hallway where Chris was still talking to the owner of the structure.

When he saw them, he ended the conversation quickly and ran over. "Barry! What happened?"

"I was kidnapped."

"You were what?" Claire gasped, staring at him in alarm.

He held up his hands. "Don't worry, don't worry! I'm not quite sure what happened, but I think someone must have broken into my house and drugged me. Anyway, when I regained consciousness, I was in a plane. I heard voices talking about how they had to stop and deliver their cargo, so I waited until they had gone, and then I fought the guards. It was hard, because I didn't have any weapons and they had Las Plagas, but I got out! I got out of the plane and started to run; I thought I could find the airport and get a flight home, but then everything went nuts."

"Why did they kidnap you?" Chris asked. He was staring at him with an oddly fearful look in his eyes. "What did they want?"

Barry shrugged. "Maybe they thought they could hold me as a hostage?"

"You said they were delivering cargo?" Claire asked. She wondered if that had been the Bandersnatches. If it was, then she had been wrong in thinking they had been set loose after the T-Veronica virus. She didn't know why they hadn't been seen on the news broadcast, in that case. "What was it?"

"I don't know," he said. "I looked around when I escaped, but I didn't see any boxes or anything. There just were all of these weird guys dressed in black."

_H.C.F.,_ she thought. _He was on the same plane as the people who infected themselves for this attack._

"What's going on, anyway?" he asked. "Shouldn't the B.S.A.A.'s European branch have sent in teams by now?"

"We think they were attacked," Claire replied, since her brother still hadn't said anything. She glanced at him, somewhat concerned. His initial happiness at seeing his friend had faded entirely, and now he looked like he might fall over. "Chris?"

Barry looked at him too. "Whoa, what's wrong with you?"

"I'm just wondering what their goal was," he said. He looked away and added quietly, "and why it was so easy for you to escape."

"What, you think they _let_ me escape?"

"They might have." Chris didn't meet his gaze, and Barry frowned.

"What is it, Chris? You think I'm a traitor? Maybe an impostor or a robot? You think they dosed me full of P30 or turned me into a Manchurian agent or something?"

_A what?_ Claire wondered, but she didn't dare ask with the tension in the room.

"You've known me for years, and I'd know if they had done something to me! They haven't; they didn't get a chance before I escaped. I'm perfectly normal!"

Chris grabbed his arm. "And if you weren't, that's _exactly_ what you'd tell me! I'm not accusing you of anything, Barry, but there's something wrong here!"

"Let go of me. You're acting suspiciously, Chris, and now you're trying to cast doubt on me! How do _I_ know you're you?"

"Stop it!" Claire shouted, stepping in between them before either one could say or do anything else. "We can worry about this when we're back home. Right now we're still in danger, and paranoia won't help at all!"

And as they mumbled that she was right and apologized without looking at each other, she stepped away from them with a pounding heart, hearing in her mind words that had been declared to everyone by the messengers of the Organization.

_Look around at those you trust…_

Chris seemed ashamed of having reacted the way he did. He said something about how he didn't really mistrust him, and that there should be ways of making sure nothing had been done to him. However, he seemed reluctant to turn his back to Barry. Barry admitted that maybe his escape had seemed too easy, but he frowned at the floor as he spoke.

_…and you will see that you no longer trust them._


	12. Chapter 12: Madness and Memories

Chapter 12: Madness and Memories

The noise of a helicopter's propeller reached Jill's ears, and she stepped back, shielding her eyes from the dust it was sending flying. By this point, she was prepared for any sort of attack, and she raised her gun to shoot the helicopter itself if necessary, but as it approached she saw someone waving a flag with the B.S.A.A. emblem on it.

"Hey!" the person holding the flag shouted. "We're on your side!"

She kept a grip on her gun, in case it was a trap, but she got out of the way so that the helicopter could land. Once it did, she could see that there were five people inside. She had never met any of them, so she still couldn't confirm that they weren't imposters. The one with the flag set it down and came out, raising his hands when he saw that she was still holding her gun.

"You are on _our_ side, aren't you?" he asked, looking uncertain.

"I'm with the B.S.A.A.," she responded, and he smiled.

"Yeah, I thought so. You're Jill Valentine, right? I'm Joe. Come on, we should get out of here."

After looking at him for a moment, she put her gun away and followed him to the helicopter. If he turned out to be false, she could always kick him while reaching for her gun. She took a good look at the other four in the helicopter before getting in. They all looked exhausted and distressed. She could only imagine how bad she looked.

"You weren't stationed here, though, were you?" Joe asked, as the helicopter lifted into the air.

"No," she said. "I came when we realized we couldn't get through to anyone else from the B.S.A.A."

He nodded, looking defeated. "The media is going insane. Every branch was hit, worldwide. Only those of us who were out away from headquarters got away, it seems."

One of the others said, "I don't understand why _no one_ survived the blasts."

"Survivors were stabbed," Jill said dully, feeling the weight of what she had seen down there crashing in upon her. "They sent someone in to take care of it."

"Do you know who did it, or did they get away?"

"They got away," she sighed. "I tried to stop them, but they gave me the slip just moments before you arrived."

Joe gave her a puzzled look. "What? But…we were scanning the area for movement. You were the only one down there; we watched you for a while before deciding you were one of us."

"Oh." She shrugged and tried to smile at him, made uncomfortable both by the fact that they had been watching her without her knowing it and that they hadn't seen the other person.

_Am I going crazy? Did I imagine the whole thing? Or…_ She glanced around at the others in the helicopter. They all appeared to be nothing more than the haggard survivors of the North American B.S.A.A. branch. Yet if the Organization was funding them, it shouldn't be too hard to slip in an agent of their own. _That's crazy._

She wondered which made her crazier, seeing people who weren't there, or thinking it was a conspiracy to make her think she was losing her grip. _Of course, if it _is_ a conspiracy, then I'm not crazy at all._ As she debated over which was worse, other thoughts started creeping into her mind.

_If there was no one there, then what did I see?_

_ Maybe no one was there because it was me._

_ How could I be chasing myself?_

_ Who else would wear an outfit like that?_

Jill put her head in her hands and decided to stop thinking about it immediately, before she came to a really crazy conclusion. _What if Wesker sent me forward in time to get revenge posthumously? _She knew that that really didn't make any sense. For example, she would have remembered going forward in time, and she was pretty sure her past self couldn't do things that she hadn't done. Besides, if that had somehow happened, both of her would have been visible to the people watching.

It being a delusion made much more sense. It could have been a very vivid flashback, as strong as the ones she had had right after returning from Africa. _Except I always have seen the memories from inside my own head…_ She knew it was possible to have more dissociative memories, viewing them as if she were an observer. That would explain seeing herself. Unfortunately, that seemed to indicate that she was getting worse, not better. Even with the stress she was under now, she had thought she was improving.

It definitely was a bad day when the idea of your past self traveling through time as part of a convoluted revenge plot was the preferable theory.

She couldn't fall asleep, even though she was tired, because she was in a helicopter full of people she didn't entirely trust. So, she kept her eyes open and made sure no one made any sudden moves, but at least part of her mind decided it needed to sleep, because she had a secondary awareness of talking to the hydra statue from Rathbourne's manor.

_Not more statues,_ complained the part of her that was vaguely aware she was dreaming.

The hydra was a lot more alive than it had been when it was a statue, and it wanted to know why she had killed it. It understood that getting into secret passages was a common pastime among people from Raccoon City, but it thought the burning of its heads was definitely overkill.

She tried explaining that lighting all of the candles was the only way she could get its last head to open, and all of the heads leaned towards her and hissed that that was patently ridiculous, because anyone who would design a lock like that was really sick. She agreed that the people who had designed it were sick, and she tried to back away from it, but that didn't work out so well since she was sitting in a helicopter.

The hydra just laughed, a cold laugh that didn't suit it at all, since it was a snake, and then she realized that it was actually Horbes laughing. He grabbed her arm, and she got the distinct impression he was laughing at her and tried to break free, but then his laugh became desperate and hysterical.

Something was wrong, but she couldn't tell what it was because she was wearing a mask. She lifted a hand to adjust the mask and then saw that she was wearing that hooded cloak again. When she reached up to see if Wesker's device was back on her chest—_it can't be that's impossible wake up,_ the awake part of her mind jabbered—flames roared up around them, and she and Horbes were burning alive while the hydra said that it really did seem like overkill.

She saw Joe moving, and she jerked herself awake to defend herself if he was going to attack. He reached towards her, and she jabbed him in the solar plexus. It worked; he stumbled away from her, although it had the side effect of causing everyone else in the helicopter to look at her like she was crazy. It occurred to her that she might have reacted prematurely.

"I think…you were having…a nightmare," he gasped, holding his stomach. "I was…going…to wake you up."

"Sorry," she said, not sure how she could explain without sounding paranoid. "Thank you."

He raised his eyebrows at her, and she decided it would be a good idea to stay completely awake until she was safely back at Chris's house.

xXx

The media was indeed going insane. Every headquarters of the B.S.A.A. had met the same fate as the one she had seen, right down to the survivors being murdered. That, on top of the news from Italy, had nearly the entire world in a panic. The T-Veronica situation was stabilizing—in the sense that it would do no further damage. Nothing could be done about the tens of millions of people who had lost their lives. The spooky, threatening message delivered by the H.C.F. had gotten out and it was being repeated on the news. There was no mention anywhere of a cloaked figure in a beaked mask.

"Let me get this straight," Kirsty whimpered. "In under a day, the Organization decimated the B.S.A.A. and took out _Italy_?"

"Yes," Sheva said, from where she was sitting beside Jill on the couch. "If we don't stop them soon…"

"But that doesn't make any sense!"

Jill glanced at the chair across the room, where Kirsty was sitting. She looked like she was about to start tearing her hair out.

"The Organization has never done things this way! I've studied them for years! They've always been interested in obtaining bioweapons, gathering data on them, studying them, and advancing in subtle ways. This just isn't their style; why have they started acting differently now?"

She didn't know, and she was too tired to think about it. She had no intention of falling asleep until she knew that the others were all right. She hoped they would arrive soon, because she didn't think this was helping her mental state any. It already had been hours.

She went to answer the door when a knock came, and it turned out to be Leon. He looked almost as worn out as she felt.

"I got a message that Ada had been seen in Mexico," he said, with a dismal shrug. He walked beside her to the living room, and she noticed that his arm was bandaged. "It was a trap. All that was waiting for me was a gang of Hunters."

"Hunters?" she repeated.

"Yeah. It felt like someone wanted to delay me for as long as possible, and I think I know why. I heard about the attacks as I was trying to get back." He collapsed in another chair and shook his head.

"Chris and Claire went to help with the Italy situation," she said, "and Barry's gone missing."

"No!" Kirsty cried, jumping to her feet and pointing at the window. "They're here! All three of them are coming!"

Jill looked at the window and saw that she was right. Chris, Claire, and Barry were all walking towards the door. This time, despite her exhaustion, she ran to open the door for them.

"You're all right!" she shouted.

Chris seemed distracted. He was looking back at Barry and saying, "I didn't even say anything that time! Look, I'm sorry, all right? Maybe I'm getting paranoid; maybe I have a _reason_ to be paranoid with what's been happening lately!"

For his part, Barry shouted, "Jill! Boy, am I glad to see you!"

"Thanks," she said uncertainly. She couldn't help but notice that Claire had winced and was waving her arms, as if trying to warn her about something.

"Jill," Barry asked, "would you please tell this goof that I'm not being controlled by anyone?"

She stared at him, but before her tired mind could even work through what he had said, Chris exhaled sharply and said, "What do you think you're doing, provoking her memories like that?"

"I'm not _provoking_ anything; I'm just trying to get a little support from someone who just _might_ know a little bit more about it than you, Chris!"

Claire grabbed Jill's arm and pulled her a few yards away from them. "They were like this for the entire flight," she whispered.

"What exactly is going on?" she asked.

"Barry was kidnapped by the H.C.F., but he got away. Chris is worried that they…did something to him."

She was starting to wonder if Barry was the only person who had the guts to say words like _control_ to her. She made a mental note to tell her therapist that her friends were doing a marvelous job of helping cause avoidance and denial.

She knew that wasn't entirely fair, but she felt like she might collapse at any moment. She still hadn't gotten over seeing the cloaked person—it couldn't have been a hallucination—or her strange dream from the helicopter. Now she was watching two of her friends, who had been best friends for years, fighting for no good reason.

She looked at them. Barry was trying to take his shirt off. Chris was now putting forth the theory that the Organization had not only gotten samples of the P30 drug, but that they had managed to develop a version that didn't require repeated injections.

"Excuse me," she cut in, causing them both to stop and stare at her. "Why don't you go to the hospital and run a blood test, if you're that worried? With what's going on, you probably can convince them that it's urgent." _If they developed it to fool blood tests, even that won't work._ But that was as crazy a thought as the time travel theory. "Just stop arguing!"

They seemed taken aback by her vehemence, but she was too tired to care. She could hear Claire saying words of support, and she was glad the others hadn't come to see what was going on. She hoped someone found the cloaked killer soon. It couldn't have been a delusion. Someone was trying to confuse them. Mind games.

Blasted hydra was yelling again.

xXx

When she opened her eyes, she didn't know where she was. Instinctively, Jill reacted by getting to her feet and reaching for her gun. She jumped up, hit her head on the ceiling, and then fell onto the floor of the bedroom she and Claire shared in Chris's house.

_Great,_ she thought, getting up. She made a mental note to see where she was before jumping next time, and started working on a plan in case anyone ever imprisoned her in a bunk bed. Having a plan was reassuring.

Now that she knew where she was, she waited until she was no longer at all disoriented. She realized that she really had collapsed after talking to Chris and Barry, and that someone had carried her up here. She hoped it had been Chris.

After showering and changing clothes, she felt much more alive, and she went downstairs to find the others. Sheva was there, to her surprise, and she explained the current situation. Barry, as far as they could tell, was just fine. The trip to the hospital had resolved the issue at least for now. However, after what had happened, it didn't seem safe for him to be alone, so Leon was temporarily moving in with him.

Chris and Leon were currently at Barry's house, getting everything set up. Barry had also gone over, theoretically to help, but he had returned with the announcement that they were doing such a wonderful job that he didn't want to mess it up. He also had brought a stack of old videotapes that he wanted to watch instead of the depressing news stations. He was in the living room now, with Claire and Kirsty, watching them.

"We're also working on the G.P.C. issue," Sheva said, as they walked towards the living room to join them. "They're having some sort of formal dinner party coming up, and we're trying to get invited so that we can investigate them. From all outward appearances, they care only about helping the survivors of these attacks and trying to find out who's responsible, but after your meeting with Rathbourne…"

"Yeah, I know," she sighed. "He at least has to be up to something."

Barry cheered when they walked into the living room. He was sitting in a chair at one side of the room, eating a gigantic sandwich and watching the television. It seemed to be showing the end of a Burton home video. Kirsty was sitting in another chair, looking even more out of place than usual with her elaborate hairstyle and neat blue gown. Claire was sitting on the couch, and they joined her.

"You just missed twenty minutes of his garden," she whispered.

"You made it just in time, Jill," Barry said. He ejected the tape and put a different one in the VCR. "The first thing on this tape is the S.T.A.R.S. office Christmas party of 1997! Do you remember it?"

She knew they had had a Christmas party, but the memory wasn't very vivid. She smiled vaguely for his benefit, and then her eyes were prickling with tears as the TV screen displayed fuzzy images of so many of their old, dead friends.

Joseph Frost waved at the camera and elbowed someone off-screen. The camera moved to show Brad Vickers, who smiled uncertainly.

"Come on," a voice said, and Jill recognized it as her own. "This is a party, Brad! Lighten up!"

"Am I the one filming this?" she asked Barry, and he nodded happily.

"Isn't this great? Old times!"

_Yeah, things definitely seemed simpler back then,_ she thought, as she watched the camera veer around the room until it reached Rebecca, who was wearing a festive Santa Claus hat. She grinned at the camera and said something about tricking Chris to stand under the mistletoe, if Jill wanted to wait nearby.

Barry roared with laughter, and Jill shook her head. How had this tape ended up in his collection, anyway? Chris had probably threatened to burn it.

"Chris never told me about this," Claire said, with a teasing smile.

"It didn't quite go as planned," she replied with a grin. "He wasn't going to fall for that old trick."

She was starting to remember the party now, and she felt a sudden sinking feeling inside. It _had_ to have occurred to Barry that they would see every member of S.T.A.R.S. at this party, and if she remembered the order of events correctly, then any minute now…

And then she suppressed a grimace as her own voice on the tape said, "Smile for the camera, Captain! Oh, come on, just one smile?"

The camera focused in on Albert Wesker, who was giving the camera a look as though he had never been further from smiling in his life.

"Don't do that," Chris's voice laughed somewhere off-screen. "People watching this tape will wonder why you want to murder the cameraman!"

Wesker gave the camera one stiff smile, and then he opened his mouth to say something.

Barry choked on his sandwich and bashed the pause button. "Well, I think that's enough reminiscing for one day!" he said, laughing without spirit. He suddenly seemed to realize that now Wesker was just staring at them from the TV screen, and he fumbled with the remote as he tried to eject the tape. He gave up and hit the power button instead.

Jill realized to her surprise that she had an urge to laugh. _Poor Barry really should have thought this one all the way through…_

"Camaraderie."

She looked over at Kirsty, who gave no clue as to where she intended that statement to lead. She was simply staring at the now-dark screen. Jill looked at both Sheva and Claire, sitting on either side of her, but neither of them seemed to know what to say to that, either.

_I guess S.T.A.R.S. did have camaraderie,_ she thought, a little sadly.

"Christmas."

Kirsty gave Barry a blank look. "What was that for?"

He blinked at her. "I'm sorry. I thought we were playing a game."

She raised her eyebrows. "And, um…what would the rules of this game be?" She gave him a tiny smile, as if to say that she would quite like to play a game. Jill thought she looked somewhat like a kid who was afraid of being ostracized on the playground.

Barry frowned for a moment. "Say as many words as you can associated with that tape, I guess. I suppose we'd take turns."

"I think I'll sit this one out," Jill muttered. Claire laughed, and Sheva just shook her head.

Kirsty, however, seemed to be taking this chance to have a lighthearted conversation very seriously, ironically enough. "'Kay… S.T.A.R.S."

"Party."

"Mistletoe."

Barry threw a grin in Jill's direction. "Cameraman."

Kirsty also looked at her, and blinked. "Umm... Captain."

"Err…tree?"

She seemed taken aback. "Tree? What kind of answer is tree?"

He rolled his eyes. "Like a Christmas tree? Come on!"

Jill felt rather glad to be sitting in the sane section of the room.

"Cookie."

"Present."

"Film."

"Oh, going for an obvious one, are you? Well, I see your _film_, and I raise you one _friendship_!"

"You stole that from my _camaraderie_," she chided. "Food."

"Drink."

"Treachery."

"Teamwork."

Kirsty's eyebrows shot up. "I say _treachery_, and your response is _teamwork_?"

"Hey, this is word association with the _video_," he said, frowning at her. "Besides, we're talking about a Christmas party, for crying out loud. I think you lost, due to the irrelevance of your word."

She gave him a skeptical look. "Really? Why were you so anxious to turn off the tape, Barry?"

_Oh boy._ Jill was starting to see how this game could go downhill very fast, especially once they started running out of happy words.

Barry grimaced. "Oh, fine. It's your turn, you know."

"Got it. Happiness."

"Love."

"Joy."

"Peace."

"Loyalty."

"Mission."

"Mansion."

Barry threw his hands up in the air. "_Mansion_? That has nothing to do with—oh, for crying out loud… Goodness."

"Badness."

"Honor."

"Dishonor."

"Nobility."

"Ignobility."

"Snowflake." He looked a bit triumphant with that one, since it certainly seemed like she was relying on word association to come up with her answers.

"Snow."

"Cheater. No, that wasn't my word." Barry frowned, and then his eyes lit up. "Precipitation!"

"Umbrella."

"Crap. No, no, that wasn't my word either, and I still say you're cheating!"

Chris and Leon arrived then, and walked in to tell Barry that they were finished. They both stopped and stared, for Barry and Kirsty were now leaning out of their seats and growling words at each other.

"How do you think one loses this game?" Sheva asked.

"I'd guess by not being able to come up with a word," Claire replied.

_No chance of that happening any time soon…_

"Come on!" Barry protested. "You're not playing in the spirit of the game! Just forget he was there, all right! Ribbons!"

Chris walked over to the couch, looking wary as he passed between the two chairs. "I don't know what's going on," he said, "but just tell me one thing. Are they having a good time, or are they about to kill each other?"

The three of them sitting on the couch all shrugged.

He shook his head. "Well, I'll tell them later, but I'll tell you now—I got the mail on my way in, and our request was granted. We're going to the G.P.C.'s party next week." He narrowed his eyes. "And if they _are_ the Organization, then they had better be prepared."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: A milder chapter this week...but do be prepared. Next chapter, things are going to start getting...interesting...<em>


	13. Chapter 13: Back from the Dead

Chapter 13: Back from the Dead

Claire pulled on her dark camouflage shirt and thought about the mission. They had secured invitations to the party for the members of the B.S.A.A. and Leon, since he was a government agent. She and Barry were going to go along, theoretically as guards, and Sheva had volunteered to help them instead of going in to the party. The other four were going to see what they could find out from the inside. Right now they were all waiting in the hotel in Mr. Rathbourne's city, since the party was being held at his manor.

She walked out into the hallway, where Sheva was waiting, also dressed in nighttime camouflage. A moment later, another door opened, and Barry stepped out.

"Boy, was I glad to get this outfit," he said, holding out his arms to examine the material. "When Chris explained the mission to me, I was afraid we were going to be wearing catsuits!"

"You remember our job, right?" Sheva asked. "After we introduce ourselves to Rathbourne's guards, we start patrolling. Whenever one of us gets a chance, we slip away to investigate the grounds of the manor."

"Looking for secret passages, suspicious statues, and odd medallions that are just sitting around for no good reason," Barry added.

"And if we're caught, our cover story is that we heard a noise," Claire finished.

They nodded at one another and then went downstairs to the lobby to wait for everyone else to be ready to go.

Leon was already there, leaning against the wall by the door. Being one of the four going inside, he had dressed for the occasion, looking sharp in a fitted black suit and a formal cravat. His hair was slightly more swept back than usual, and he smiled when he saw them.

"Good evening," he said, standing up and giving them a bow.

"What are you planning to do?" Sheva asked. "Charm them into giving up their secrets?"

"Hey, if it works…"

It certainly seemed to be working on the woman checking people into the hotel, as she kept trying to catch Leon's eye.

Jill came down the stairs next, wearing a high-necked, sleeveless blue dress. Her hair was down, although she had pinned part of it back with a sapphire pin. From the look on her face, she would have much preferred to be with the outside group.

Claire had to hold back a grin. She knew from an overheard conversation that the only reason Jill wasn't in Sheva's place right now was because Chris had told her how much he wanted to attend the party with her.

_"This is a mission, not a social outing!"_ _she had grumbled_, but apparently she hadn't minded all that much. Claire planned on teasing her brother about it as soon as she got a good opportunity.

"So Chris is taking us, and then Sheva is going to drive the three of you after us, right?" Jill asked.

"That's the plan," Sheva responded.

"Good," Barry said. "I was afraid I might have to ride with Kirsty, and have her start playing word games with me again!"

Leon raised his eyebrows. "Are her word games that frightening?"

"She cheats! First she was using words only tangentially related, and now she's been studying!"

Trying not to laugh, Claire asked, "How does someone study for a word game, anyway?"

"She asked if she could borrow my tapes. She took them all back to the hotel with her that day! I just know she's watching them all and preparing answers in advance so she can challenge me to a rematch!"

This time she couldn't keep from laughing, but at least she wasn't the only one.

"I hope that's not about me," Chris said jokingly from the stairs.

He was wearing a traditional black suit, with a blue cornflower in his lapel to match Jill's dress. His jacket's sleeves were rolled up, because he was trying to fasten his cufflinks, but he quickly fixed them once he was finished. He had tried to flatten his hair somewhat, and he looked uncomfortable in the suit.

"Looking good," Jill called to him.

"Oh, y-you too," he stammered, blushing. He quickly bent to dust off his shoes, which looked perfectly clean already.

"Is anyone going to be filming this?" Barry asked suddenly. "I mean, I just realized that this would be a great addition to my videos!"

"I think everyone has enough to do without taking a video," Sheva said.

"Besides," Claire added teasingly, "Kirsty might take it and challenge you to another word game."

He rolled his eyes. "My fellow ninjas just don't understand…"

_We're his 'fellow ninjas' now?_

Kirsty finally arrived then, skipping down the stairs to join them in a low-cut, clinging black gown, wearing shoes with heels that put her a couple of inches higher than even Chris. Her hair was in its usual arrangement, although today she had woven sparkling chains into the braids.

"Everyone knows what to do?" Chris asked. When they nodded, he smiled. "All right. Let's go."

The sun was going down, so the air was cool as they hurried across the parking lot to the cars they had rented. Rathbourne had graciously offered them the services of his chauffeur, and they had graciously declined, not wanting their transportation to depend on him.

Claire got into the back of their second vehicle, fastening her seatbelt and waiting for Chris and the others to drive away. Once they had, Sheva pulled out of the parking lot and followed them, continuing on until they both found places to park near the manor.

Barry whistled as they got out of the car. "Nice house!"

Chris offered his arm to Jill, and she accepted it. Together, they started walking up the sidewalk towards the manor. Leon walked behind them at a brisk pace, and Kirsty ran to catch with him.

"Leon, um…aren't you, um, technically my date?"

He raised his eyebrows, but he slowed down enough to let her walk beside him. Shaking their heads, Sheva, Barry, and Claire brought up the rear.

Two security guards were standing on either side of the doors, wearing crisp blue uniforms and holding rifles. They raised their weapons at the side of the approaching group, seeming particularly discomfited by the three in camouflage.

Chris showed them his invitation and explained that they had brought along three guards to help protect the manor during the party. Claire hoped that would be good enough for them, but to her dismay, the guards conferred with one another and decided that they would have to ask Rathbourne.

One of the guards disappeared inside the manor and returned a few minutes later with the heavyset executive. He raised his eyebrows when his gaze fell on Jill.

"Well, I should have guessed you would be the guest to bring personal guards." He looked around at the rest of them, and then he smiled. Claire thought there was something very shrewd in his smile. "Very well. Anything for our honored members of the B.S.A.A. Guards, you now have reinforcements for the night! Carry on!"

Then he turned and left, leaving behind a very confused group.

_There's no way that guy was being sincere, so why is he letting us do this? Does he just think it's not worth a fight?_

"All right," Chris said, turning to them with a shrug. "Good luck."

Claire almost wished him luck as well, but decided against it in case the regular guards wondered why he would need luck at a formal party. She looked at Sheva and Barry, and they spread out to patrol the grounds, as per their plan.

For a while she walked in a very set area, getting closer to the entrance when people were approaching and nodding to other guards as they crossed paths. Gradually she began expanding and shifting where she patrolled, until her route was taking her to the edge of a gazebo that sat to the side of the house. She walked up to it in calm, measured strides five times before glancing around to make sure no guards were nearby and then ducking inside.

White wood arched up to meet in a point at the top, and from the inside she could look out each of the eight walls onto the rest of the grounds. On one side, she could see only the stone wall that separated the Rathbourne property from the rest of the city, but one of the walls gave a good view of the manor. She could see people moving around behind elaborate windows, and occasionally she caught a word or two of conversation.

_This is no time to be spying on the party_, she reminded herself, resuming her search of the gazebo.

A line of cushioned seats encircled the gazebo, breaking off only at the entrance. A small table sat in the center. She inspected the table and floor without finding anything, but when she took a closer look at the seats, she found that one of the cushions was hiding something.

Claire lifted it and pulled out a crank.

_Now I've just got to find out what this goes to._

She thought the guards just might notice if she was patrolling with a crank in her hands, so she tried to work out a way to carry it surreptitiously. Finally giving up, she stuffed it back under the cushion and made a mental note to come back when she needed it.

She crouched down as a guard approached. As soon as he had passed, she snuck out of the gazebo and resumed patrolling, going further along the side of the house this time. She could see hedges near the back, possibly indicating the start of a garden.

It was slow going, since she was still keeping up the act of being on patrol for any guards who happened to pass. From time to time, she looked up at the manor windows. All seemed normal there. However, as she got closer to the hedges, she noticed a dark shape near the border. She couldn't tell what it was.

She got out her gun, creeping towards the hedges. It was definitely a person, crouched beside the hedges and trying to see through to the other side. Wondering who it could be, she tightened her grip on the gun and continued forward. She was trying to be stealthy, but then she stepped on a twig and gave herself away.

Heart pounding, she lifted the gun as the figure whirled around.

"I heard a noise!" Barry yelped.

"Quiet down!" she hissed, lowering her gun. "It's me!"

"Claire! Did you find anything yet?"

"Just a crank," she said. "I left it in the gazebo, but I can go back now if you think we need it."

He shook his head. "Let's wait on that. All I've found is this hedge maze. Who puts a hedge maze in their backyard?"

Sheva's voice cut in with, "Do you know how obvious you two look, standing there?"

"Sorry," Claire whispered, turning to see her approaching from the other side of the manor. "Did you find anything?"

"I checked the garden," she replied. "The fountain looks suspicious, but I couldn't get it to open."

"Does it need a crank?"

"No, it looks like it will need three medallions."

"It must happen when you reach a certain level of evil," Barry commented. "They hand you a list of standard design ideas."

Claire rolled her eyes and asked, "Was anything in the maze, Barry?"

"I didn't go in yet. I was trying to see through one of the side walls, but I couldn't. The entrance is around the side."

The three of them snuck around the side of the hedges, checked to make sure the real guards were nowhere in sight, and then entered the maze. The thick hedges rose on either side of them, forming a passage for them to walk through. It was wide enough that the three of them could stand side by side.

They walked along. It seemed fairly straightforward as they went, with no junctions and no separate paths that they encountered. They made several turns, but they had been walking for some time without having to make any choices.

"What kind of a maze _is_ this?" Barry asked.

"Maybe it's a labyrinth," Claire suggested.

"What, there's a difference?"

"Shh!" Sheva hissed, holding up her hand. "Do you hear something?"

Claire stopped and listened. There was a sound up ahead, like that of something moving. She glanced at the others. In silent agreement, they lifted their weapons and continued forward. The trouble with the labyrinth was that the constant turns put passages right beside each other. It was difficult to tell where the sound was coming from.

She glanced over her shoulder from time to time as they went, thinking that something could have been released in the behind them.

Finally, though, they turned a corner and saw a reptilian beast walking along. It turned, leaping towards them and slashing out with sharp claws.

"Hunter!" Barry yelled unnecessarily.

Claire dropped to the ground to avoid its claw and rolled out of the way. She jumped up and shot it. The other two shot at the same time, and the Hunter dropped before it could even think about a second attack.

"So that's a Hunter," Sheva said, walking over to it. "Is this proof enough that Rathbourne is up to something?"

"Either that or he has bad taste in pets," Claire said. "We'd better be prepared, in case there are more of them."

They continued walking, getting closer and closer to the center of the labyrinth. Another Hunter was waiting a few turns further, but they dispatched it easily, having been expecting it. They encountered nothing further until they reached the center.

A pale archway rose over what looked strangely like a marble altar. Flowers had been strewn everywhere, carpeting the ground surrounding it. As they got closer, she saw that the archway was actually a complicated mechanism, with an empty space that looked just the right size for the crank.

"That's it then," she said. "I'll run to the gazebo and be right back."

"Good luck," Sheva said. Barry was busy inspecting the flowers. "Shout if you need help."

"I will."

The trip back through the labyrinth was uneventful, although she kept watch for any more Hunters. She reached the entrance and looked out. None of the guards were around, so she crept back out onto the grounds and started making her way towards the gazebo. She wondered if their absence had been noted.

She kept an eye out for the guards, ready to look more like she was patrolling and less like she was making a beeline for the gazebo, but none of them came around. She glanced towards the manor again. Everything was still calm there; it looked like they were dancing down. She wondered if Chris and Jill were dancing.

_They should just come out and admit their feelings already._

A smile was still on her face over that thought when a voice from the shadows barked, "Stop where you are, Miss Redfield!"

Claire had no intention of obeying that order. She started to run, turning to see the speaker as she did so. Her view was obscured, however, by a number of gun-wielding people running from the bushes and shadows, all dressed in camouflage similarly to her. She could hear footsteps coming from the gazebo as well.

One shot the space where she had been standing as she darted to the right; she fired back. He fell backwards, but then a Plaga exploded from his neck. The centipede-head lunged for her. She shot at it, kicking out behind her at the soldiers trying to get her from that side. Many were shooting, however, and she began a desperate race to avoid their aim.

She remembered Sheva and Barry back by the altar and let out a yell, hoping that it would get their attention if they hadn't already heard the gunfire. With any luck they would be able to sneak up and be aided by the element of surprise. The soldiers here seemed to all be intent on killing her, and she was afraid her luck was about to run out. They were working hard to surround her, and she couldn't dodge bullets.

Still, she thought she might be able to break through their circle if she was fast enough, when a hand reached out and grabbed her arm. She pulled free, noticing the black uniform as she did so, but in that time the soldiers had gotten behind her. Claire lifted her hands in surrender, while working on a plan to escape.

"Very good," her captor said, clapping.

She looked up at him. _H.C.F. again._ "What's in your bag of tricks?" she demanded. "Most people I've seen lately from your group just find creative ways to kill themselves."

"Perhaps this time, we have come with a creative way to kill _you_," he countered, pulling out a syringe filled with a purple liquid.

Claire tried to make a break for it, but the Las Plagas infected soldiers grabbed her, too many of them for her to fight off at once. She struggled anyway, trying to get free. Her heart was hammering against her chest.

_This is bad, really, really bad,_ she thought wildly, as the man from H.C.F. stepped closer to her. He was so close now that she could feel his breath on her face, and she turned away, disgusted.

"That was a jest," he said, in a flat monotone that suggested he was only vaguely familiar with the concept of jokes. "You were right."

She stopped struggling and looked at him in surprise. "What?"

He plunged the needle into his own arm, and then dropped it on the ground. His skin started bubbling and swelling, and she renewed her efforts to get away. This looked like the G-virus. That was definitely not good.

His shoulder exploded with size and opened up into a grotesque eye, which flicked in all directions before focusing on her and the soldiers. A claw swung out from the rapidly mutating man, knocking down the soldiers holding her. Their grips loosened, and she pulled herself free, hearing agonized screams as they were killed.

Claire backed away. The G-mutant was making short work of the soldiers, although some of the ones that had visible Plagas were making an attempt to fight back. It was a disturbing sight, and she turned away to run inside the gazebo. The remainder of the man's consciousness, however, was still bent on her destruction, and soon the monster was lumbering after her.

Wood splintered and flew as one of its claws crashed into the gazebo. She cried out, knocked to the ground as the pavilion was destroyed around her. Crawling out from beneath the wreckage, she rolled clear of the monster's reach and then pulled out her gun. She got to her feet and shot it.

"Claire!"

She looked and saw that Barry and Sheva were coming, having fought their way through a group of the soldiers who had no intention of approaching their former commander. They started firing at the G-mutant once they were in range, and it turned and lunged for them. Massive spikes were protruding from its shoulders, she saw, and what remained of the H.C.F. man's head was rapidly being overtaken by some sort of sickly looking growth.

She shot at it again, trying to distract it from the others. She could hear screams coming from the manor; either they had seen what was happening outside or something was happening in there, too.

"What's going on?" someone cried, and she saw that it was one of Rathbourne's regular guards. "What is that thing?"

"He infected himself with the G-virus!" she shouted. The monster, tiring of chasing Sheva and Barry, turned towards them again.

Two of the guards turned and ran, and Claire didn't blame them. The rest stood firm however, shooting it along with her. The monster shuddered and began to change, its body becoming streamlined and its claws growing longer. It sprang away, much faster now.

_This isn't going to work,_ Claire realized. _It's just going to keep adapting, unless we can inflict enough damage on it that it becomes something that can barely move, like Birkin, and then kill it after that._

She wondered if anyone in the world knew enough about the G-virus to say how powerful this thing might get. It dove for her and the soldiers, and they scattered. It continued to lash out, and one of the claws cut in her arm.

Claire clutched her arm as she fell to the ground, and her hand came away bloody. She got to her feet, trying to get away from the monster as it approached her. She could hear people shooting in all directions now, but nothing was stopping it.

"Watch out!" a voice shouted, and a body crashed into her from the side, rolling them both out of the danger zone as the G-mutant attacked.

She got up, gasping for breath and wincing at the pain in her arm. That voice had been familiar. It had almost sounded like… But no, that was impossible. Claire looked up to see her rescuer and froze. Her heart stopped beating for a moment, because what she was seeing was impossible. It was impossible because he was _dead._

"Claire." Despite the danger they were in, despite the G-mutant raging just feet away, Steve Burnside smiled at her.


	14. Chapter 14: The Manor

Chapter 14: The Manor

While Claire, Sheva, and Barry began to patrol, Jill and the others stepped into the entrance hall of the manor, and a tall, skeletal man stepped away from the walls to greet them. "Good evening," he boomed in sepulchral tones.

Kirsty shrieked and grabbed Leon's arm.

"My apologies, my lady," the man said, bowing. "I am only the butler. There is no need to be alarmed."

_The butler?_ "What happened to the previous butler?" Jill asked, feeling something cold uncoil itself in her stomach.

"He retired."

_You mean he _was_ retired, for helping me._

The new butler rang the bell for the servants, tugging on the rope twice. Two blue-liveried men appeared, and he said, "Four more of our guests have arrived."

They both bowed. One stepped forward and told them to follow him to the dining area and ballroom. They followed them through the doors, although the second servant then parted from them and went off in a different direction. Jill glanced after him, wondering where he was going. She felt uneasy being back here, and the fact that she had concealed weapons on her person didn't change how ill suited for combat her outfit was.

The servant led them in a much more straightforward route than that they had taken to get to the white parlor room. They passed the grand hall, where the hydra sat, fully intact again, beside the staircase. Jill thought she saw movement behind it, like the flutter of a dark cloak, but when she took a closer look, nothing was there.

They passed through another hallway, and then the servant opened a massive, elaborately carved set of doors. He bowed and stepped aside for them to pass. It opened onto a gigantic chamber with marble pillars and towering windows; sparkling chandeliers hung from the ceiling and filled the room with light. Half of the room was set up for dining, with small tables covered in white tablecloths. The other half appeared to be the ballroom, and the floor gleamed in the firelight. A chocolate fountain flowed beyond the tables, with a water counterpart at the other end of the room. Beneath the windows, the wall arced back to make room for the orchestra, which was currently playing a quiet tune. A couple dozen guests or so were already in attendance, some seated at the tables, some talking in small groups, and some sitting on the couches that were set against the walls.

Even though they were in the house of a man she considered to be an enemy, Jill couldn't help but be impressed.

They walked over to an unoccupied table near the wall, and Chris pulled out one of the chairs for her. She sat down, smiling because he had remembered that she would want to sit with her back to the wall. He sat down beside her as Leon pulled out the next chair for Kirsty. Once they were seated as well, a small man with a pad of paper walked over.

"Will you be having the turkey dinner or the baked ham?" he inquired.

_I won't be having anything, because I don't trust that Rathbourne won't arrange for me to have a "tragic accident" while I'm here,_ she thought to herself, but she just smiled demurely and ordered the ham.

"What do we do now?" Kirsty asked, once he was gone. She sounded excited. "Do we start asking questions? I feel just like James Bond!"

Leon rolled his eyes.

"Let's mingle for a little bit," Chris said. "Ask questions if it comes up naturally, but don't do anything suspicious." He looked around. "Judging by what other people are doing, I think we should go around as couples."

They got up, and he offered Jill his arm again. She accepted it, appreciating how close it made them. _We're going to have to talk about this some time,_ she told herself, as his leg brushed against hers.

However, now was not that time. They approached one of the groups of guests, introducing themselves. There were four people in this group, two executives of one of the major pharmaceutical companies that were in the Consortium, and their spouses. None of them appeared very interested in talking to members of the B.S.A.A., and Jill felt that familiar suspicion rise up in her.

_It's not fair to suspect people of wrongdoing just because their company makes medicine._

They wandered around the room some more, finally approaching an elderly gentleman who was sitting by himself. He got up and greeted them exuberantly, and upon hearing who they were, he told Jill that he had been very moved by her obituary. She grimaced, feeling the memories of her "death" stirring in her mind. Chris noticed and hastily ended conversation with the man.

A few people did want to talk to them about the current world situation, but no one gave any indication that they suspected the G.P.C. One woman did comment that the group behind these attacks had to have extensive resources, but after glancing around at the others sitting with her, she said she had nothing further to say on the subject. They were looking around for more people to talk to, when silence started to fall over the room.

Rathbourne had entered the room, and now he was standing in front of the dining area as though about to give a speech. All of the guests, including more that had just arrived, began heading to their seats. Chris and Jill returned to their table, and the other two joined them shortly thereafter.

"I thank you all for joining me on this occasion to celebrate the beautiful alliance that is the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium. My fellow executives—" he bowed in the direction of the people he was addressing, who all seemed to be sitting together, "—honored members of the B.S.A.A. and honored government agent—" he bowed towards them, "—and friends from the pharmaceutical companies, without whom we would not have a consortium." He gave a final bow in their direction.

As he spoke, servants entered the room and began serving the food. Jill smiled politely when hers was set in front of her, even though she still had no intention of eating it.

"Of course, in times like this our alliance is even more important. We must stand strong, and be not swayed by accusations or rumors that _we_ are behind these terrible attacks." The speech sounded very rehearsed, and Jill was sure he looked right at her when he said that part. "This year, our gathering is smaller than ever. It is sad…and yet, it can only make us stronger."

_Tricell,_ she realized. The B.S.A.A. had been unable to find enough evidence to implicate the entire company, and so they had remained active, although in a shaky position with the public, following the Kijuju incident. She hadn't realized until now that the Organization's Tricell targets had amounted to basically the entire company.

"With these shadows cast away from us, we can look forward to a bright future!" Rathbourne boldly proclaimed. "I thank you again for coming." He walked over to the other executives and sat at one of their tables. Conversation slowly picked up again.

"Well, he did it again," Chris said. He was cutting up the food on his plate and moving it around so that it would appear he had eaten some. "The attacks 'can only make us stronger;' he's making it sound like it was a good thing again."

"Hmm," Kirsty said.

It sounded so odd that Jill looked up from pretending to eat her ham. "Hmm?"

"Hmm."

"Riveting conversation," Leon commented.

"Psychology interests me," Kirsty said. "I had a line of thought, but I was, um…afraid to pursue it because it might end with…well, with Chris yelling at me." She glanced down at her plate. She hadn't eaten anything either, following their cues.

Chris raised his eyebrows. "Go ahead. I won't yell."

She cleared her throat. "Well, having observed you, I would have guessed that you consider the attacks on those people to be such a terrible crime because it involved the loss of life. Innocent life, to be sure, but not everyone who died that day was innocent. Do you still condemn the killing of _those_ people?"

"Well, I don't think an act of terrorism—and that's what it was—is ever the right answer. Those people should have been given a fair trial. They shouldn't have had the T-virus and Las Plagas set on them. Rathbourne thinks it was all right, and that's what bothers me."

She began polishing her fork with the cloth napkin beside her plate. "Perhaps he feared these people more than you do."

"Aren't you the one who's convinced he's part of the Organization?" Chris asked in a whisper.

Kirsty smiled. "We're talking theoretically, Chris. And theoretically, he could be innocent. Now suppose—theoretically—that these attacks had happened a few years ago. You get a call, the B.S.A.A. tells you what happened, sends you the list of the dead—and there, killed in the attack, is Albert Wesker. Perhaps it would be _you_ saying that there was a good side to these attacks. Hmm?"

Chris gaped at her. He didn't quite seem to know what to say.

Jill didn't know what to say, either. She didn't have an answer, and every time she tried to think about it, she felt memories spiraling around her and pulling her down. She looked out at the other guests and stiffened, seeing Wesker himself casually pulling out a chair.

Then reality reasserted itself fully, and she realized it was just another guest who happened to be tall and blond.

"Why don't we talk about something else," she suggested, going back to moving her ham around on the plate.

"Good idea," Chris said. He was giving his food a blank look.

"Oh, um… I'm sorry. I hope I didn't…upset you." Kirsty was now cutting up her meat so fast that her silverware was clanging against the plate. "Sometimes I just get going, and I don't realize what I'm saying. It seems to cause problems," she mumbled, not looking at any of them.

"Maybe I have an answer for your little problem," Leon said. "The ends don't justify the means, Kirsty. Killing evil people in an attack like that is still a crime."

She lifted her glass to him and smiled. "We'll have to talk about psychology and morality more in the future, Leon."

Jill breathed a sigh of relief that they weren't going to keep going with that conversation immediately.

Some of the guests were finished eating already, and the orchestra struck up a lively tune. Several couples got up and walked out into the open area, starting to dance at the musical cue. They looked perfectly normal, and it was depressing to think that many of them might be involved in the Organization.

It was going to be hard to find anything out from this party. Servants were standing near the doors; while they weren't quite guarding it, it was likely that they would cause a ruckus if some of the guests decided to sneak around the manor for a bit. She hoped the outside team was having more luck—and she abruptly realized that Chris had jumped to his feet.

"Jill, may I have this next dance?"

She stared at him. _Shouldn't we at least be _attempting_ to do something useful?_ she thought, but the words died on her lips when she noticed the half-hopeful, half-panicked look in his eyes.

"All right," she said, getting up.

When the music stopped and the orchestra started setting up for their next song, they stepped out onto the dance floor. Jill realized she was blushing, but decided it didn't matter. At least it would bring a little color to her face. The orchestra went into the opening notes of a waltz, and Chris put his hand on her shoulder blade and took her other hand. She rested her free hand on his shoulder and smiled up at him. She hadn't danced in a long, long time.

She kept an eye on her feet as they started moving, not wanting to step on him. After a while, she felt confident enough to lift her head. Chris was looking at her like nothing else in the world existed, and as they moved around the dance floor, she knew how he felt. At a time like this, it was possible to forget all of the horror awaiting them. They spun around the room, weaving through the other dancers with more speed and skill now that they were getting used to it.

The music stopped, and Chris let go of her hand. His now-free hand made its way to the small of her back. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Jill, I've been meaning to ask you…" He cleared his throat and tried again. "I mean, there's something I'd like to say…"

"Yes, Chris?" she asked, looking up and realizing that their faces were only inches apart.

"I…"

As he struggled for the words, the distance between them closed even further. Jill realized she was breathing too heavily and tried to calm down, but it was hard to focus when his arms were around her and his lips were so close.

_A millimeter, _she thought vaguely, feeling a sudden urge to giggle. One millimeter more, and his lips would brush against hers. He had given up even trying to speak. She had just parted her lips almost unconsciously, when there was a flicker of motion in her peripheral vision.

Standing in the doorway was a cloaked figure of the past, staring at her through the red eyes of that beaked mask. She gasped, stiffened, and Chris turned to see what had alarmed her. The figure stepped away, moving out of sight just as he looked.

"What is it, Jill?" he asked, turning back to her with a puzzled look.

She stared at him, not knowing what to say. She couldn't tell him what she had seen, because if she did, he'd…he'd… _He'd help me stop her, whether she's real or just an illusion._

She took a deep breath. "Lately I've been seeing—"

Someone screamed as the sound of gunfire came from outside. Jill and Chris sprang apart and ran to the windows, but it was hard to see what was happening. It looked like some sort of battle had begun, and the guests were panicking.

"Nobody panic!" Rathbourne shouted, although he sounded on the verge of panic himself. Either he was a very good actor, or he hadn't been expecting this. "I'm sure it's just the guards…"

No one was listening to him. People were running around wildly, and while no one wanted to go outside, few wanted to stay near those windows. Jill saw Leon take advantage of the chaos to slip through one of the doors out of the room.

"What is that?" someone screamed, pointing as a man outside began to twist and pop, transforming into a grotesque, though still humanoid, figure.

"Claire!" Chris shouted, as one of the people around the monster moved close enough to the windows to be recognizable as his sister. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the rifle he had concealed there.

"Jill!" a voice screamed, and she turned to see Kirsty, amazingly keeping her balance as she sprinted across the room in those shoes. She grabbed her arm when she reached her, looking panicked. "I heard Rathbourne talking. He said something about going to the control room and then his chambers to 'take care of things' in case the B.S.A.A. went searching during the confusion! He saw me there, but he said it didn't matter because I couldn't follow him without a key. Then he walked behind a curtain!"

"He's using those passages," she muttered. "Don't worry, I can take the secret way." She ran for the door they had come in through, and Kirsty followed. She didn't argue, because it didn't look like any place around here was going to be safe much longer.

"Where are we going?"

"To the hydra!"

"Oh!" Kirsty let out a gasp. "Don't tell me there's one of those in here, too!"

"It's just a statue," she assured her.

They reached the grand hall without being stopped, because everyone was running in one direction or another. Two more were not suspicious in the least.

"Bring over one of those candles!" Jill shouted, opening the hydra's heads as quickly as she could. They got the candles lit within seconds, and she hit the button on the final head to move the statue. It slid out of the way, with Kirsty staring in amazement as Jill pulled open the trapdoor.

As soon as they were in the passage, she reached down and retrieved the gun she had strapped to her leg before the party. Catching Kirsty's alarmed look, she explained, "I couldn't attend a formal event with a visible holster."

She looked around for the medallion, but she couldn't find it. She hoped that either they wouldn't need it, or that it was still stuck in one of the doors. They ran until they reached the five branching paths, and then stopped. Jill frowned at them, trying to decide which was most likely to lead them in the right direction.

Something caught her eye, then—a glimmer of red eyes down the middle passage. She raised her gun, but the eyes disappeared into the darkness. "Did you see that?" she whispered.

"See what?"

"Red eyes, right down there." She shook her head and started for the passage. "Never mind. Let's go."

"Wait!" Kirsty squeaked, as they hurried down the path. "No one runs _towards_ red eyes!"

"It's the only lead we have," she replied grimly. The door at the end was already open, and nothing blocked their progress as they ran to the end. Stairs led up to a trapdoor, just as they had on her previous journey through the secret way.

Pushing open the trapdoor, she found that they were in a twisting hallway. It wasn't very long before they reached a choice of two possible directions. A sign labeled "Control Room" pointed helpfully to the right.

_It could be a trap,_ she warned herself, but ignoring the sign seemed foolish. At least this way, she was prepared for the possibility of a trap. She tightened her grip on the gun and beckoned for Kirsty to follow.

She made a right turn at the sign, but after walking down the hallway for a while longer, they reached another intersection. She looked to her left and froze. The cloaked woman was standing there. The figure turned around another corner, walking at a slow pace that was almost mocking.

Jill turned left and started running.

"Why are we going this way?" Kirsty asked, following.

"There's someone down there!"

They ran down another twisting section of hallways, with the cloaked figure as a guide. She was always just out of reach, cloak flapping around a corner whenever they reached the next turn. Finally, they turned a corner and found themselves in a wider corridor. The masked figure was standing in the center, staring at them.

"Who are you?" Jill asked. She took a step closer and raised her gun.

The figure turned and ran. She approached a door at the end of the corridor but turned again; Jill shot at her and missed.

"What is she doing?" Jill muttered out loud.

"Who?" Kirsty's voice was barely a whisper.

She turned towards her, seeing that the other woman's eyes were wide and frightened. She suddenly felt uneasy. "That person in the cloak." When her eyes only widened further, she added, "The one standing here just now; I just shot at her!"

"But…" Kirsty took a step back. "There was no one there…"

Jill felt her blood run cold. That was impossible. It was too vivid to be a hallucination, wasn't it? She took a deep breath to try to steady her nerves and continued down the corridor. She turned at the end, hoping to catch this mystery person once and for all.

"Jill, wait! This door…it says it leads to the control room."

She hesitated, looking back at the door. _There was no one there…_ "All right," she sighed, and pushed open the door to the control room.

It opened onto a room filled with computers, all humming. Screens lined the walls, some dark, but others still displaying information. Some looked to be in the process of a hasty shutdown, no doubt due to Rathbourne trying to get rid of any evidence. No one was there, however, and she remembered that he had been going to continue on to his chambers. There was a door at the other end of the room.

"Kirsty, are you any good with computers?"

"Yes!" She beamed. "I've used computers to help analyze the patterns in the Organization's movements!"

"All right." She checked her gun to make sure it was still loaded, just in case. "I'm going after Rathbourne. Stay here and see if you can dig anything up about the Organization and G.P.C., or anything else he wouldn't want us to see."

"Roger!" Kirsty sat down in front of one of the flickering consoles, and Jill ran through the other door.

It led to another hallway, and from there it was a short sprint through a series of doors that were swinging open. She wasn't certain that Rathbourne had gone that way, but it certainly gave the impression of something racing through in a hurry. The further she went, the more sumptuous the surroundings became, lending support to the idea.

Finally, she forced open a richly decorated door—the doorknob was encrusted with diamonds, of all things—and came face to face with an alarmed Mr. Rathbourne. He was standing beside a fireplace, which was roaring happily as it ate up a stack of documents.

"How did you find me?" he gasped.

"Never mind that," she said, pointing her gun at him. "Mr. Rathbourne, you are under arrest."

"For what? Burning documents?" He started to laugh. "Don't I have the right to burn things? You never did get your warrant, did you?"

She took an angry step towards him, thinking about Horbes and the butler.

His eyes widened, as if it had suddenly occurred to him that maybe she didn't care about warrants anymore. He darted to the side, and she saw he was heading for the thick curtains hanging on the wall. He dove behind them with her in pursuit, and she was right behind him.

The door was already open, and he stepped inside, wrenching free the jewels from the doorknocker as he did so. Jill grabbed the door, pulling it open again, and he slammed it on her fingers with surprising force. They struggled, but since she only had one hand on the door due to holding her gun, he succeeded. The door closed, and she was left with no way inside.

_There has to be a path on the secret way that leads to where he's going._

She ran back the way she had come, going back to the control room and its computers. Kirsty was hitting keys furiously, copying things onto a flash memory stick that she had apparently brought with her.

_And she gave me a funny look for bringing a gun._

"Did you find anything?"

"Yes," Kirsty breathed. She sounded even more confident than she had during the psychology discussion. "I did a search on that man you knew, Mr. Horbes, and it brought up all sorts of files related to him. If you can prove he was in the H.C.F., then I think we have the data to prove that G.P.C. was working with them. I also found some orders—" She stopped, as a loud siren started up. "What is that?"

"I'm not sure," Jill said, looking around.

"Do not panic," a cool, computerized voice instructed them. "Please exit the manor in an orderly fashion. Self-destruct will commence in five minutes."

"Get that data and let's get out of here!" Jill shouted. Even with all she had seen, she hadn't expected Rathbourne to blow up his manor. She couldn't help but wonder why he was this desperate.

Kirsty yanked her memory stick free of the machine. "Done!"

They ran through the halls as fast as they could, and Jill didn't even look around to see if the cloaked figure was anywhere. She was amazed that Kirsty could keep the pace in those shoes of hers, but she supposed she was used to them. The computer continued to give calm updates as they ran.

They clattered up the ladder as quickly as they could and fled the grand hall, nearly colliding with a few confused servants who were trying to figure out why the hydra statue had moved. They reached the area the party had been in and noticed that it was nearly empty already. There was no sight of Chris, and Jill didn't know where Leon had gone.

They raced out of the room, running through the manor until they reached the entrance hall. The doors were wide open due to the mass exodus, and they ran outside and didn't stop until they were across the street. The outside was chaos, as the computer's words were being broadcasted onto the grounds as well. Jill saw Chris running towards them, with Claire and a redheaded young man right behind him.

Then the manor and its grounds exploded in a ball of fire.


	15. Chapter 15: Chessmaster

Chapter 15: Chessmaster

"So," Chris asked, turning around in the airplane seat he was in, "tell us what happened to you, Steve."

Claire knew her brother well enough to know that he was nearly bursting with suspicion, but after the debacle with Barry, he was trying to put a polite face on things. She was sitting beside Steve, with Chris and Jill sitting in front of them. Just behind them were Sheva and Leon, and Barry and Kirsty were in the next seats back. They had gotten on the first flight home, after changing back into more normal clothes.

The manor's explosion had destroyed the G-mutant, to everyone's vast relief. The few guards who had remained had gone to the police quietly, showing an exception to the rule that had been governing the enemy forces so far. Then again, Rathbourne's guards had seemed as horrified as Claire to see what was going on. Barry had wanted to return to the maze with the crank, but the amount of activity in the area—not to mention the probable instability of the ground after that explosion—had convinced him to leave it for another time. Leon had found some sort of information during his search of the manor, as had Jill and Kirsty, but they all had agreed to not discuss the mission until they were in private.

Interrogating Steve did not seem to come under that heading.

Claire still couldn't believe he was alive. During the entire remainder of the fight, up until they heard the computer warning of the impending destruction, she had felt as if she were in a dream. He was alive. After thirteen years, he had returned, saving her from a monster as if nothing were more normal.

Until she had seen his face, she hadn't realized just how much she had given up hope on his return. Now he was finally here, and she hadn't managed to say more than five words to him. She had told him that she had missed him, but they had been too busy at the time for anything else, and now she felt tongue-tied. She had barely managed the introductions. She was almost afraid to touch him, in case her hand went straight through him and he proved to be a ghost.

He wasn't afraid to touch _her_, however, and his hand found hers as they sat together in the plane. She glanced down at their linked hands and then up at his face, convinced by his warm grip that this was actually happening. Unfortunately, she also understood Chris's misgivings.

"What happened to me," Steve repeated. "I'm not sure."

Chris raised his eyebrows, Jill turned around to look, and even Claire eyed him askance. Behind her, she heard Leon mutter, "Oh great," under his breath.

"I mean it!" Steve said, turning red. "I remember dying, with Claire by my side…and then I opened my eyes by that big house. I saw the monster and saw that Claire was in trouble, so I wasn't going to question I was alive—and _how_ many years did you say it was?"

"Thirteen."

"Could he have been in cryostasis the entire time?" Claire suggested, although that didn't seem quite right to her. For one thing, he had aged—not as much as he should have, but enough to suggest he had spent some time alive and out of stasis. He looked a couple of years older at least, which admittedly wasn't much. It made her think uncomfortably about the difference in their ages.

"And then what?" Chris asked. "H.C.F. decided to bomb the manor with him?"

Jill elbowed him, either because of the comment or because the plane's other passengers were starting to give them strange looks. "Can't you remember anything in between?" she asked.

Steve sighed, looking exasperated. "No. I'm telling you, it was just like I was asleep for that time."

"Did you dream?" Sheva asked.

He frowned. "I think I dreamed about Claire…"

She was sure she could hear snickering from behind her, somewhere around where Barry was sitting.

"I think I had nightmares, too. I just remembered being scared and not knowing why. Maybe I was dreaming about my death…" He shivered, and Claire tightened her grip on his hand. "Then I felt startled, like someone had woken me up, except I was still dreaming. Then I knew that everything would be all right, as long as I found Claire again." He looked at her and beamed, and then he looked back at Chris. "Those were only dreams, though. They were all just feelings, with nothing actually happening."

"I see," he said, in a flat voice that indicated he was still suspicious.

"Isn't this wonderful?" Kirsty cried from the back, seemingly oblivious to the tension. "We now have another member of our happy little team, and better yet, Claire has her boyfriend back!"

Claire stared at the back of the seat in front of her very intently, not meeting anyone's gaze—especially not Steve's—for the rest of the flight.

xXx

At the end of the flight, when they reached the parking garage where they had left behind the two cars they had taken to the airport, there was some difficulty in deciding who Steve was going to ride with. Chris was all in favor of sending him to stay with Barry and Leon, but Steve wanted to stay with Claire and she made sure to give her brother her most hopeful stare.

So it was that Chris drove away with Jill, Claire, and Steve as his passengers. The other four would go to their respective places for the night, but their group was bound for the hospital to make sure there was nothing strange running through Steve's bloodstream. He had been staring sullenly downward ever since finding that out.

"It's nothing personal," Claire whispered, nudging him. "It's just a precaution, since you were with the Organization for so long."

"But Claire," he whispered back, "my blood is sure to be funny. I was infected by that virus, remember?"

She wasn't sure how she could forget, as Steve had mutated into a monster, chased her down a hallway, and nearly chopped her in two with an axe before his consciousness reasserted itself. "Of course I remember," she assured him. "Having the T-Veronica virus doesn't count, right, Chris?"

There was a long silence from the driver's seat. "…Right," he finally agreed.

"See?"

Steve sighed unhappily. "Yeah, I guess so."

Claire patted his arm. She was glad she had gotten to speak to him more now, although she had wished it had been on a better subject. "Cheer up. You're happy to see me, aren't you?"

He smiled. "Yeah."

"We'll have a lot of catching up to do."

Chris pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, which was fairly empty due to the lateness of the hour. He parked, and then the four of them got out. They walked in through the main entrance, and then walked into the outpatient waiting room, where he indicated that Steve should write his name on the waiting list that was posted at the desk.

He did so, and then they found a group of chairs and sat down. The waiting room was fairly empty, with only a few yawning people here and there. There was a door to the side that led to the lab where bloodwork would be done, and there were several offices for the patients to get their paperwork in order when their name came up on the list.

Steve muttered something under his breath about a waste of time, and Claire patted his hand. On the other side of her, Jill was rapidly tapping her foot and looking around. Chris put his hand on her shoulder, but it didn't seem to help.

A woman came out of one of the offices and checked the list. She called the name of the next person in line, who got up and followed her back to get everything set up.

"So, what's up with Jill?" Steve whispered. "I mean, it's my blood they're going to take."

Before Claire could answer, Jill said, "I'm sitting right here, you know; I can hear you. I just don't like hospitals."

"Oh."

Finally, Steve's name was called, and they all got up and walked into the little office. The woman sat down at her computer and stared at them, probably not used to having a posse come when she called a single name. Chris launched into his explanation of what they needed, but as soon as he mentioned that who they were, she held up a hand.

"B.S.A.A. business?" she asked. She shook her head and picked up the phone sitting beside her on the desk and pressed a button. "Hello, this is Rose. Is Dr. Jones still in?"

"This happened last time, too," Chris muttered.

She hung up the phone and then explained, "After handling the T-virus situation so well, Dr. Jones was put in charge of everything related to these recent attacks and the B.S.A.A. The others can handle it if they have to, but they prefer not to." From the way she was eyeing them, she was one of those others.

"I see."

"You can return to the waiting room now, until you're called to go to the lab."

They left the office and returned to their seats. Claire wondered how often it was that a simple blood test was done or analyzed by the head doctor. They must have been really disturbed by the T-virus, and the data the B.S.A.A. had given them on the other viruses and drugs to watch out for probably pushed it over the top.

They waited in silence, with Jill still fidgeting. Finally, the doors to the lab opened, and Dr. Jones stuck his head out. He waved, and Claire waved back. Then he asked, "Steve? Hello, I'm Dr. Jones. We're ready for you!"

Steve sighed and got up. "Stay with me, Claire," he whispered.

"Sure," she said, walking behind him. The others followed, although the moment they stepped into the lab, Jill looked like she was considering walking right back out.

"This is rather embarrassing," Chris admitted. "Every time I show up here with someone for a blood test, they call you. Shouldn't a nurse be able to draw blood?"

"There's a funny story there," Dr. Jones said, getting the items he'd need out of one of the lab's cabinets. He got Steve seated in a chair and started pulling on rubber gloves. "See, we were having a staff meeting, and several of the nurses had registered a complaint that they shouldn't have to handle anything related to the B.S.A.A. or their enemies, because it was weird and dangerous. I made an offhanded comment about how we have to deal with weird things all the time, so it was really quite silly to react like that, and…well, here I am!"

For the entire time he was talking, Steve had been looking at Claire and moving his head oddly, and she finally realized he was trying to subtly beckon her. She walked over to him. "What?"

"Don't go too far away," he whispered. "I keep feeling like if you aren't with me, I'll lose you again!"

She smiled nervously and patted him on the hand. This reunion was becoming increasingly more awkward than she had ever made it in her daydreams. Although she had to admit, being paranoid would put him right in line with the rest of their team.

Dr. Jones began drawing Steve's blood and asked, "I suppose you'll want this analyzed as quickly as possible again? What am I screening for?" The unspoken _"since everyone else was too frightened to find out like they're supposed to"_ was visible in his face.

"Well, it's kind of like last time," Chris said. "We mainly need a drug test, looking for P30 or anything that looks similar to it."

"That again? You know, our database never got an explanation on that one." He pulled the vial of blood free and began disconnecting Steve from the needle. "Is anyone going to tell me what it does?"

"No."

Dr. Jones stared at Chris and finally said, "Okay…" He bandaged Steve's arm and asked, "Are you all right, then, Steve?"

"I'm fine," he said.

"Good." He abruptly looked at Jill, who was staring off into space and seemed miles away. "Are _you_ all right?"

She jumped. "What? Oh! Fine—just fine!" She smiled unconvincingly and moved closer to Chris. He glared at the doctor.

"I'll go start that analysis," Dr. Jones mumbled, hurriedly taking the vial through a nearby door.

_He'd never guess that all he did to upset them was stand there in a lab coat. It's probably a good thing he didn't introduce himself by his first name._

Steve seemed generally unconcerned about what was going on, now that his blood had been taken. He rolled down his sleeves, and Claire took a good look at what he was wearing. He was wearing a loose white T-shirt and a pair of jeans, which was quite a normal outfit—and therefore was strange. He'd had them on when they met at Rathbourne's house, and according to his story, that meant that his captors had taken the time to dress him normally before…whatever had happened.

She frowned. As much as she hated to admit it, Chris's paranoia was justified in this case. Steve looked over, and she quickly smiled, but he looked away with an unhappy expression. This wasn't going well.

"What's wrong?" she asked, stepping towards him.

"I messed things up by coming back, didn't I?"

"What? No, of course not! It's just surprising, that's all."

He sighed. "I can see it in your face, though. You think something's wrong. You're afraid…that they took me to the manor for a reason."

Claire glanced down. "It really seems strange, Steve. You have to admit it."

"Maybe there's a traitor!" he suggested, his voice rising with excitement. He blushed when she raised her eyebrows. "Well, it's possible. I mean, someone could have decided they didn't like what was going on and thought they'd release me."

"It's possible," she agreed, and he beamed at her.

Steve reached out and took her hand. "Do you remember what I told you, just before I…died?"

Now it was her turn to blush. Of course she remembered; his final words had haunted her dreams for years. He loved her. "I remember," she said quietly.

"I…" He met her gaze, looking awkward. "I wanted to tell you…it's still true. No matter how much time has passed, no matter what happens… I love you, Claire."

She heartily wished he had picked a better time to discuss this, such as a time when they _weren't_ tired, in a hospital, and in the same room as her brother. Fortunately, Chris was talking quietly to Jill and didn't seem to have heard the awkward conversation behind him.

"What is it?" Steve asked, his forehead creasing in a frown. "Do you—I mean, I'd understand if you did; it was thirteen years, after all—do you have someone else?"

"No! I…I was waiting for you," she admitted.

His face lit up, but she was spared further embarrassing overtures due to the return of Dr. Jones. "The test came up negative for any chemical compounds," he said. "Something did seem strange, though, so even though you didn't ask me to test for anything else, I looked in the B.S.A.A. database, and it seemed to match—"

"The T-Veronica virus," Claire and Chris said together.

He raised his eyebrows. "That's right. I take it you have it under control, then?"

Chris made a vague sound in reply. Claire glanced at Steve and gave him a reassuring smile, even though she couldn't help but wonder if the virus would ever manifest itself. He had already suffered the early mutation, and he hadn't been kept in cryostasis for fifteen years like Alexia Ashford had, but it was still in his system. The virus was still a part of him.

They said their good-byes to Dr. Jones and left the lab. As they were leaving the hospital, Steve cleared his throat. "Mr. Redfield?"

Chris's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"Well, sir, I don't exactly have a place to stay, so I was wondering…if it wouldn't be too inconvenient of course…if I could stay with you guys!" He gave him a hopeful look.

Claire smiled to show support.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Sure, I guess… It's not like I'm just going to throw you onto the street…"

Steve actually jumped into the air and cheered. "Thanks! Don't worry, I won't be a burden! I won't even take up that much room! Maybe I can even sleep in Cla—"

"—on the couch," Chris finished for him. He smiled, a pleasant smile that Claire knew meant there was going to be no chance of changing his mind.

"…Of course. That's what I was going to say."

She couldn't help but feel glad that it had been her brother who had to say it, and not her.

xXx

"Good night, Claire!" Steve shouted up the stairs.

"Good night, Steve," she called back, before fleeing to her room.

"You seem distressed," Jill commented. She was already in her pajamas, sitting on the upper bunk and looking down at her.

"That's a good word for it," she sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I don't want to be mean to him, but he doesn't seem to understand that I need a little time to process what's happened here. It's that memory gap. For him, it's like it was yesterday that we were together at Antarctica."

"It'll work out. If he really loves you, he'll give you the time you need."

She sighed. "Thanks. I sure hope so."

She got ready for bed and climbed in the bottom bunk, mind buzzing with everything that had happened. She finally fell into a confusing dream that seemed to have cobbled all of her worries together into an incomprehensible mess, and then she was suddenly awoken by a yell.

_It's already morning,_ she realized fuzzily, noticing the light coming in through the window as she struggled to get up. It had sounded like an angry yell, so it couldn't be anything too bad. She hoped Barry hadn't shown up with more videos.

She was still working on pulling herself together when Jill left the room at a sprint, apparently concerned nevertheless. Claire finally got her last sock on and hurried after her, yawning. She didn't feel like she had gotten any sleep at all.

Downstairs, Steve was still asleep on the couch. Jill was standing in front of the stairs, and Claire joined her. Chris and Sheva were standing together in the kitchen, and Kirsty was seated at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. Chris's laptop was sitting in front of her.

"Those idiots," she growled into her hands. "Those fools, those annoying, meddling, cretinous _pests_!"

Claire glanced at Jill and mouthed, "Cretinous pests?"

She shrugged.

"Something wrong?" Chris asked mildly.

Kirsty looked up. "The data I got from the manor isn't as good as I thought it was. Everything official is tied to Rathbourne, and the rest is just his personal musings about the Organization. There is _nothing_ here that can _prove_ that the rest of the Consortium was involved, _nothing_!" She buried her head in her arms.

"I'm sure it's not all that bad," Sheva said, looking alarmed.

"At least we can arrest Rathbourne now," Jill added, looking grimly satisfied.

"Oh no we can't," Chris sighed. "It's been on the news—Rathbourne's dead. He died in the explosion at the manor. They even have the body, so it's hard to think he could be faking it."

"Dead?" she repeated, looking stunned.

_Didn't he have an escape plan?_ Claire wondered, just as perplexed. Until now, she hadn't doubted that Rathbourne had blown up the manor in an attempt to hide his shady connections. It was strange, though, that he wouldn't have allowed himself an escape path. From the little she had seen of him, she wouldn't have guessed he would kill himself for the greater good of the Organization.

"Maybe Leon's information will be useful," she said, remembering that he had said he had found something out.

"It better," Kirsty said softly, "because we're in a lot of trouble. If I don't miss my guess, the manor was attacked because we were there. The Organization may destroy itself at this rate, but they'll be sure to get us, too."

"What do you mean?" Chris asked sharply, frowning at her.

"I mean that we have more to fear than the Organization itself." She looked at the glowing computer screen and shook her head. "I've studied their movements and analyzed the patterns in their actions in the past. The Agency, the 3rd Organization, they've used many names and used many tactics, but what they've been doing lately is unlike them. It is as if their motives have changed."

_They said they have a vision,_ Claire remembered.

"And H.C.F.?" Kirsty asked, raising her eyebrows. "They have not been seen in _years_, so why should they reappear now? Yet here they are, driving the attacks, sacrificing themselves at such a rate that soon they shall all be gone. It is as if someone else is guiding the Organization's actions, pulling their strings so that they sacrifice themselves for _his_ glory…a chessmaster, moving his pawns from the shadows so that he can achieve his ultimate goal." She smiled bleakly. "We have a dangerous enemy."

Claire felt a chill run up her spine, although she wasn't entirely sure why. Beside her, Jill took a step back.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," Chris said. "You can't be saying that everything that's happening is _still_ being controlled by We—"

Kirsty held up her hand. "You aren't giving credit to the dead again, are you? The dead can't come…" She trailed off.

"Sorry," Steve said from the doorway. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No," Claire said quickly. "Everything's fine."

_That wasn't what he asked, was it? But everything _is_ fine._

"I'll, um, just transfer this data from Rathbourne to your computer," Kirsty said, seeming flustered. "I… Hey, Leon might have good information, and we can crack this case wide open! R-right, guys?"

The room felt very cold, far colder than it should.

_A chessmaster…_


	16. Chapter 16: Check

Chapter 16: Check

As the day wore on, Jill became quite irritated with herself for feeling a burst of panic at Kirsty's revelation. After all, there were many people who might be manipulating the Organization, and that sort of person was bound to consider the B.S.A.A. a major threat. It didn't have to be Wesker. It couldn't be Wesker. He was dead.

_Absolutely, positively, extremely dead._

She liked to think that the number of adjectives that worked their way into that thought were due to her certainty, and not because she was trying to convince herself. In a way, she _was_ certain, although she didn't like to dwell on it. She had worked with him, after a fashion. While she accepted the idea that there was a darker undercurrent to the Organization bludgeoning their way through things, it didn't seem like his style. Certain elements practically screamed his name, but there was always something off.

For example, Kirsty was right when she said that the H.C.F.'s reappearance was suspicious. On the other hand, they weren't being deployed in a logical way. They were often killing themselves without even trying to escape, and in general, they weren't being used the way someone would normally use a military group.

Then there was the serpent statue. After thinking about it, she had finally realized why it bothered her so much—Uroboros. That was another sign, although she worried a little that she was just going crazy and seeing symbols everywhere. However, she remembered that she'd had to smash the serpent's eyes in, and she was certain that if it _was_ a symbol, then it was a symbol of his power, and Wesker was too arrogant to want people smashing symbols of his power just to get out of the room.

Another possibility was that she was reading too much into it from all angles, which meant that she was no closer to figuring out what was going on.

Jill put her head in her hands. Thinking about this was giving her a headache, although she was happy to note that she had managed to bring Wesker to mind several times in the same sitting without having too bad a reaction.

"Well, Leon and Barry are on their way," Chris said, walking into the living room, where she was sitting. "Hopefully we'll get closer to solving this thing. You know, Steve found out about the meeting."

She looked up. Were they supposed to have not told Steve?

"He wants to be a part of our team. I told him he could, if it's okay with you."

"It's fine," she said. When she had last seen him, he had been sitting outside, talking to Claire. They seemed less awkward together now, and that made her happy. For a while he had just been wandering around the house, going inside and outside with no discernible goal, avoiding all of them, and looking disconsolate, until he had finally settled down and Claire had caught him to talk to him. Now he seemed to be doing better. "I just wish I knew what had happened to him during those thirteen years," she added.

"Me too," Chris sighed. He sounded strained.

She gave him a worried look. He looked tired. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah…" He bowed his head. "I just don't know what to think anymore. I worry I'm going crazy or something. First arguing with Barry, and now I can't stop being suspicious of Steve. I keep looking over my shoulder, jumping at small noises."

_Welcome to my world for the past two years._

She put her hand on his arm, having an idea of what he was going through. He gave her a sad smile, and she suddenly remembered, with a flutter in her stomach, how close they had come to kissing the day before. She wondered if he was wishing they had finished that, or if he had already forgotten. Then she remembered what had cut them off and decided not to mention it.

He had enough things to worry about without knowing about her phantom plague doctor.

xXx

The table was now full. Chris was still sitting at the head of the table, with Jill beside him and Claire on his other side. Steve had sat next to Claire, with Sheva beside him. On Jill's left was Barry, and after him sat Kirsty. Leon had found himself sitting opposite Chris, which was appropriate since he had the most news of the meeting.

They had briefly discussed the Rathbourne situation, and Kirsty had delivered a much calmer rendition of her news that the data they got from the computer proved only that Rathbourne had been working with the H.C.F., and that he claimed the other executives were too. It was the sort of thing that wouldn't hold up as evidence; they had gathered from the news stations that G.P.C. was already distancing itself from the late Mr. Rathbourne.

To Jill's relief, Kirsty only made a brief mention of the fact that she thought someone new was running the Organization, rather than repeating all of her ominous statements from the morning. She regretted that she couldn't present her own thoughts on the subject to the group to see if they really were too outlandish, but she was beginning to share Chris's paranoia about telling more people what Wesker had done to her.

Finally, it was Leon's turn to speak. He was smiling more than he had in a long time, which meant that the news had to be good.

"First," he said, "I think I have found proof of Ada's allegiance."

Chris raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything.

"As most of you know, during the mayhem at the manor, I slipped away to do some investigating. I was looking around one room when a servant burst out from behind a curtain, running. I stopped him and found out that he was carrying a message, but that he really didn't want to deliver it." Leon pulled out a piece of paper. "I got the message from him."

"What does it say?" Sheva asked.

"It's from Rathbourne to the other executives of G.P.C., and it looks like he wrote it in a hurry. It says 'A.W. has betrayed us. Do not trust her.' _Her_," he repeated. "I told you I thought Ada was on our side, and he has to have meant Ada Wong here."

"So," Chris said, "you think Rathbourne wanted to warn the other executives about Ada, and since you took the message, they still won't know."

He nodded.

"Am I the only one who thinks that is a very strange final message?" Sheva asked.

"I agree," Jill said. She couldn't imagine why, with the G-virus raging outside and the B.S.A.A. closing in, Rathbourne would have though Ada's allegiance was that important. _What we need right now is someone with accurate inside information._ "Are you any closer to finding her?" she asked Leon.

He shook his head. "Not yet. I'm working on it, though."

"What happened to the messenger?" Kirsty asked. "Did he escape the explosion?"

"I'm not sure. He fled and I lost track of him."

She pursed her lips. "Pity. He might have known something that could help us."

"Well, if I ever run into him again, I'll see what I can do," Leon said.

She smiled. "Thank you, dear."

His eyebrows shot up, but then he just shook his head. "I didn't get to look around the manor as much as I would have liked. For one thing, it seemed to be constructed very strangely. As far as I could tell, we were in a section of the building that didn't lead to any other part without going through those passages behind the curtains."

That certainly explained the need to use the secret way if you didn't have the key to get through those hidden doors.

"Anyway, I also found a diary entry. It looks as though someone was writing a diary and hiding the pages inside books on the bookshelf. I only could get one entry, though, because the self-destruct alarms were already going off by then." He pulled out two pieces of paper that had been folded. "This might help us if we're going to track down the Control Plaga. I'll let you read this one yourselves."

Kirsty's hand shot out, and he obliged her by passing the papers her way. She studied them, and then handed them over to Barry, who read them and then gave them to Jill. There was no date, but it did appear to be a diary entry of some sort.

_I really don't know why I have to do this. I mean, I understand the usefulness of Las Plagas. Those demon warriors are really going to help with the plans. I even understand why that person with the Control Plaga has his (I assume) own little fortress, because keeping him safe is the key to keeping that ragtag army stable._

_I just don't understand why I have to be involved at all. It's really none of my business, although I'd never say that to Mr. Rathbourne or his…friends. I just follow instructions. The last thing I need is for my loyalty to be questioned around here. It gives me the willies._

_So, "Golem's eye and strong right hand / Enter the master's sacred land." It's not that good, but it's the best I could do. I'm supposed to keep a written record and then teach it to all the others, in case we ever need to get in to see him. That's right, me walking up to that crazy building; the forest makes it look like something from a horror film. I don't really see this journey happening any time soon, but who knows?_

_At least it's not the castle._

She read it over one more time and then passed it to Chris. So, someone had written down instructions for getting into the fortress of the Control Plaga's host and hid them inside a book. Of course, it could have been a trap, but she doubted it. It was too insubstantial, for one thing. Someone using this as a trap would have to rely on the assumption that they would find this fortress on their own, and the trap would have to be sprung around those specific instructions.

_Golem's eye and strong right hand / Enter the master's sacred land_. They were vague instructions at best without already knowing where the fortress was. Whoever the instructions were intended for must have been given that information already.

She wondered what "the castle" referred to, and why the writer had such distaste for it. It pricked at something in her memory, but she couldn't quite place it.

The pages finally made their way back to Leon, and he nodded. "Well?"

"If we can find the fortress, this should be useful," Chris said. "It also tells us that there _is _a Control Plaga, and that we aren't going to find that person attacking with the others."

Barry said quietly, "Well, considering they all commit suicide at the end of the battle, that _would_ be a bit counterproductive."

Jill choked back a laugh and elbowed him.

"Um…" The sound came from Steve, who looked embarrassed when everyone turned to him. "Could someone tell me what's going on? What's a Plaga?"

Leon explained the basics about Las Plagas to him, with Chris and Sheva filling in details here or there. Then came a brief outline of the events that had transpired in the thirteen years since his death. Jill was relieved to hear them gloss over her absence following their discovery of Spencer, although she noticed Kirsty glancing down the table at her.

_Oh no, she's going to ask me if I'm like James Bond again, isn't she?_

Fortunately, Kirsty didn't have time to say anything. The explanations came to an end, and Steve nodded and sat back, looking a bit dazed by all of the information that he had to absorb. Then Claire cleared her throat.

"Whatever the Organization's motives are—and whoever's behind them—they need to be stopped. They're causing chaos, and we're no closer to stopping them. We need to do something." She looked around the table and then blushed. "I just thought someone should say that."

"If we find the Control Plaga," Jill asked, "will that stop the infected soldiers?"

"Well, they're keeping him safe for a reason," Leon offered.

_It still could be a trap_, she thought, but she decided to keep her paranoia to herself until they had more information to work with.

In the end, it was decided that they would begin trying to trace the infected soldiers, in the hopes that they would lead them to the Control Plaga, while keeping an eye out for any other leads, as well. As the meeting ended and began to split up, Jill spoke to Chris for a minute and then went to borrow his computer.

It was time to do a little analysis of her own.

xXx

_System: Override_

_Command: Search_

_Search: Files: Keyword: Horbes_

_Results: 3 (sort: relevance)_

_File 1 of 3:_

_Name: Jeffrey **Horbes**_

_Age: 39_

_Assignment among the staff: Minor tasks, nothing too complex_

_Status: Capable, although prone to bouts of delirium_

_Additional notes: Despite my displeasure at seeing him here again, there seems to be nothing I can do. He lost his mind and is being pressed into my service as a result. I'd just as soon dispose of him; he makes me nervous. However, his previous "master" seems to be taking a vindictive glee in tormenting him. I gather it's something of a hobby. Broken as he is, I don't find him remotely amusing. It's pathetic, really. His delirium, I've noticed, can be disrupted with rebukes and/or pain, reminding him of what he has become._

Jill's lip curled in disgust for Rathbourne and whomever he had been working for, as she scrolled to the bottom of Horbes's servant file and finished reading. So, they had been deliberately tormenting him even after his loss of sanity. Whatever Horbes had done, he had made dangerous enemies. No one seemed to have cared at all that that was a human being whose mind they had destroyed. At best, they were apathetic, and at worst they were entertained and gratified.

She tried to remind herself that Horbes had been far from perfect, and that he had helped to imprison and torment _her_. He hadn't raised a finger to help when she was subjected to experiments; he had kept her there by force himself when he deemed it necessary. He hadn't had a second thought about fighting alongside her when her free will was stolen away.

Although, he had tried to apologize when they met in the white parlor. She was sure of it. He had tried to apologize and pleaded for her help. And no matter who he was, what they had done to him was wrong.

Gritting her teeth, Jill clicked away from the page on the screen and retrieved the second result of Kirsty's search.

_Records for Jeffrey **Horbes**; keep for verification of identity_

What followed was a list of dates that was tedious to go through, all pertaining to Horbes in some way. She found everything from the day he had started kindergarten to his mission on Rockfort Island. She also noticed that there was a curious section of time that was unaccounted for, starting in 2006 and lasting for about two years. Now she understood why Rathbourne hadn't known she would recognize Horbes. It had been a secret mission even to H.C.F.'s own allies.

Two more dates caught her attention from the very bottom of the list.

_March 10, 2009: Official change of commander_

_May 3, 2009: Transfer to Rathbourne estate_

Jill frowned and looked back at the earlier dates, up to the time gap she had noticed. So from the time that he had left her and presumably returned to the Organization and the rest of H.C.F.—and to their records—Horbes had done very little, in keeping with the apparent disappearance of the entire group. Then, the official word came that he was under a new command.

It made perfect sense, but seeing it written like that made her wonder just how they had done it. Had the leaders of the Organization called the H.C.F. to a meeting and told them that Wesker was dead so that they'd be working for them now? Had they just become another military unit available for the Organization's use?

And how, only two months later, had Horbes had a "tragic accident" that resulted in him losing his mind and being sent to serve Rathbourne? It could have been a true accident, but she doubted it. Rathbourne had been too quick to prevent them from taking Horbes away. He had been afraid of what they might learn.

Rathbourne's actions in general puzzled her. He had seemed genuinely surprised to see that she had tracked him down at the manor, even though he had to have realized that she had used the secret way before and so his taunt to Kirsty about needing a key didn't apply. Then he had blown up the manor without giving himself time to escape, which flew in the face of everything she had deduced about his personality.

Shaking her head, she opened the final file.

_Personal Files: Unauthorized Access is Forbidden._

_Future Plans and Current Woes_

_As owner of this estate, director of the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium, and secret mastermind of the Organization—the scoffs I endure from my fellows when I say such things only prove my point that genius such as mine goes unappreciated far too often—I would like to say I am always in absolute control of what happens here._

_Sadly, this is not always the case._

_It is a terrible affront to me, but lately I've had to deal with people who appreciate me even less than usual. Take today for example—I was rudely interrupted in the middle of a sonata by the arrival of a supposed "soldier" working for the Organization. He works for K.F.C., or some other such nonsense. He's one of those guys in black, like that creeper with the eyes who used to pretend to work for the Organization (I saw right through him, but since no one appreciates my genius, I didn't see fit to mention it at all)._

_The first thing I'll do when I'm head of G.P.C.—with my brilliance, it's going to happen eventually, mark my words—is get rid of that lot. What's up with them? Not only did he show considerable disdain for my time, but he demanded that I present myself and my household for inspection. Inspection! Me! This **Horbes** guy—that was his name, as he told me continually; apparently he had something against being called "You there," despite being so far beneath my station—was a regular nut. When he wasn't haranguing me—only my inner fortitude and nerves of steel prevent me from collapsing at the mere memory of his unpleasant attitude—he was rambling on about loyalty and all kinds of weird stuff. He seemed to think the Apocalypse was coming._

_Well, I'll sure have a laugh when it doesn't come. HA!_

_(Brief note for future reference: so that I don't become overcome with horror when I look back on this and see that I wrote such a childish phrase as "ha," I will take the time to explain now that it was actually intended to convey irony, as I attempted to lower myself to the mental processes of my infantile adversary. He seemed like the type who would say "ha" if the Apocalypse did happen. Or possibly he would rave about loyalty while letting the forces of darkness murder him, but I really am far too busy to attempt to dissect what he was talking about.)_

_I sent letters to the other G.P.C. executives, asking them if these guys are legitimate. I mean, I know we worked with them in the past, but maybe something changed. If he's no longer working for us, I'll take matters into my own hands. Are public hangings legal?_

Jill's opinion of Rathbourne had dropped even lower by the time she was finished reading his personal entry. While she accepted his basic portrayal of the old Horbes as being something of a fanatic, it was hard to feel much sympathy for someone who took every other line to proclaim their own greatness. Rathbourne had quite obviously thought quite a bit of himself.

She also saw what Kirsty had meant about the lack of proof. Rathbourne had ties to the Organization, and he wrote about it and the G.P.C. as though they were one and the same. However, unless they found something definitive, the other heads of G.P.C. could portray him as a vindictive madman with little difficulty. She knew _she_ wouldn't condemn an entire Consortium based only on the files of a man who devoted an entire paragraph to explaining how his use of the word "ha" was ironic.

"Find anything good?" Chris asked, walking into the room.

She sighed. "No. Just more questions." She stared at the files for a while longer, and then she brought up the Internet. She tried searches based on the symptoms Horbes had shown, but all she found were general descriptions of delirium. Nothing seemed close enough, or suspicious enough, to catch her attention.

_Rathbourne was dead set against us finding out what had happened to Horbes. What was it? Why was it important?_

One of the websites that had come up as a result was a place about psychology and psychiatry in general. It seemed to have a large database of questions and answers, with tools set up for people who had specific questions yet unanswered. She hesitated, and then clicked on the link. It was worth a try.

Jill typed up a description of the way Horbes had been acting, both before and after she had spoken to him. She listed some of the things that he had said, as many as she could remember. Finally, she posed her question, asking if anyone knew what could cause delirium such as this or had seen anything like it before.

As she was finishing up, Chris walked around to see what she was typing. "Do you think anyone can help?"

"I doubt it," she admitted, submitting the question, "but it can't hurt to ask."

xXx

No one had yet replied to her question with anything useful. Jill stared up at the ceiling above the bunk bed, trying to find an answer on her own. Could the change of leadership _itself_ have caused Horbes's madness? He had been utterly devoted to Wesker. That would explain the claims of loyalty that had come out during his raving and his reference to having failed, but what it didn't explain was why he thought he was being attacked by…something.

_Shadows._

She shivered, trying to imagine what it was like to be trapped in your own mind as you were attacked by things that no one else could see.

_Trapped in my own mind?_

Her breath and heart rate quickened from a burst of adrenaline. That sort of imprisonment was something she did not want to think about. She felt she was starting to do better when it came to confronting her memories—apart from that hallucination that kept cropping up and her difficulty with seeing medical equipment and doctors—but she didn't want to aggravate the problem any more than she had to. She focused on the familiarity of her surroundings and Claire's quiet breathing below, and slowly she calmed down.

There had to be an answer. Too many strange things were happening.

Mind games.

The chessmaster.

With these thoughts running through her mind, she finally drifted to sleep, or at least she thought she did. She was vaguely aware of running, of Horbes dying in the fire as someone laughed, of signs and symbols that surrounded her and taunted her to figure out what was true and what was false, and then of an explosion. The floor tilted wildly, and she fell; she heard a scream as she tried to grab something—and then she opened her eyes and found that she was sitting on the bedroom floor.

Jill let out a sigh of relief. That was the first time in a while that a nightmare had caused her to fall out of bed. Her heart was pounding and, oddly, her ears were ringing.

Then she realized that something was wrong. Reality hadn't righted itself yet. The floor really was tilted. That sound wasn't her ears ringing, but alarms and sirens going off. She blinked in confusion and then saw Claire, trapped beneath the fallen bunk bed.

"Claire!" she gasped, hurrying over. "Hang on!" She lifted it up enough for the other woman to crawl out, and then they stared at each other in confusion. The room was still tilted. Something really had blown up.

Jill got up and ran to the door, with Claire right behind her. She wrenched it open with some difficulty and entered the hallway. The floor was thick with dust and rubble, the walls were now broken and crumbled, and part of the floor was unreachable. Someone had blown up part of the upstairs.

Her heart came to a full stop for a second. The part that had been blown up was where Chris's room was.

Claire must have come to the same realization, as she ran past her, dropped to the ground beside the debris blocking their way, and screamed, "Chris!"

Jill looked to see if there was any way they could easily get through and saw none. She tried to keep a cool head, wanting to remain rational despite her feelings—and then she decided that was useless. "Chris!" she shouted, throwing herself against the rubble. She wanted to start digging through, but she had the horrible mental image of loosening something and having it collapse on him.

_That is, if he's still alive._

She let out a sob and tore her hair in distress. He couldn't be dead. After everything he had gone through, he couldn't, just _couldn't_ be dead. She had never even told him she loved him.

"What's going on?" she heard Steve ask behind her, sounding sleepy and confused. "What happened?"

"Call the police!" Claire cried. "Call the hospital! Call 911!"

Her voice sounded distant, as though she were speaking through a tunnel. Jill felt as though a huge abyss had opened up in front of her and she was falling into it. She felt as though something were inside her, trying to claw its way out through her heart. For the first time, she understood what he had gone through on that day when she sacrificed herself to save him from Wesker.

_Chris…_


	17. Chapter 17: Victim

Chapter 17: Victim

Claire paced back and forth in the emergency room waiting room, with Steve right behind her. From time to time, he'd say something reassuring, trying to calm her down. It wasn't working. Jill was sitting in one of the chairs, staring off into space. When the emergency responders had dug Chris out of the wreckage and pronounced him to be still alive, she had said only two words: "Thank God." She had been silent for the entire ride in the ambulance and hadn't spoken a word since.

The waiting room was warm, despite being nearly empty, but Claire felt cold inside. Her brother was in critical condition, less than twenty-four hours after Kirsty had made her dire prediction that they were next on the Organization's list. And like it or not, Chris being the target lent credence to the theory that no one had quite voiced about who was behind the Organization's attacks.

_Target. Victim._ Her eyes burned with tears. She didn't like applying such words to Chris. Words like that only described other people. He was always there fighting. He always found a way to pull through. _And he'll pull through this time, too!_

"Come on, Claire," Steve said from behind her. "Cheer up."

"Cheer up?" she shouted, whirling around to face him. It didn't help that he was wearing a set of Chris's old red pajamas, even though they were too big on him. "How am I supposed to be happy at a time like this?"

He held up his hands and took a step back. "I didn't mean it like that. I understand…I mean, he's your brother! I'm just worried about you."

"Thanks," she muttered, and resumed pacing. She knew he meant well. At least his comments filled the silence. She thought she might have gone crazy already if she were here with only Jill's silence as company.

The door leading out of the waiting room swung open, and a nurse hurried out and towards them. Claire ran to meet her, praying that it would be good news; Jill jumped out of her chair and hurried over.

"His condition has stabilized," the nurse said. "The doctors are through working on him. He's still in ICU, but he should recover just fine."

Claire's knees buckled from relief, and she caught Steve's arm so as not to fall to the floor. He supported her with a happy smile, and she could only nod her thanks to the nurse. She had been so afraid. She wasn't sure she could get words out coherently right now.

"Can we see him?" Jill asked, her voice sounding strange after so long without talking.

"He isn't allowed visitors yet."

"But—"

"I'm sorry." The nurse gave them a sympathetic smile. "We'll call you as soon as you can see him. All right?"

Claire nodded numbly, still feeling shaky. Jill looked like she wanted to argue the point further, but finally just gave them her phone number and then walked stiffly towards the door. Claire followed, leaning against Steve even though she was already feeling a little better. The last thing she needed was to fall down in the parking lot.

After breathing the night air for a little while, she had recovered enough to let go of him. She also had remembered that they had ridden the ambulance _to_ the hospital, which meant they were going to have to walk back. Then again, the house was a disaster zone, so she wasn't sure where they were actually going.

"I guess we should go to my house," Jill said. "We'll need to go back for the keys, though. I didn't think to bring them with me."

"I understand," she said. She hadn't brought anything with her, either. None of them had even changed clothes. "Let's go."

Since it was a small town, there were only a couple of blocks they had to walk, and there wasn't too much danger in being out at night. It was quite quiet, with the only sounds being the chirping of the crickets, the hum of the street lamps, and the occasional car in the distance. The air was reasonably warm, and the lamps lit the way well as the three of them hurried up the sidewalks. The stars seemed to glare down at them, a reminder of how cold the world could be.

_Great, I'm getting poetic_, she thought dryly. Composing bad poetry about the stars was not how she intended to react to this. She intended to find out who had attacked her brother. The police were already investigating the house.

When they reached their street, she saw that the police had set up blockades and were in the process of putting yellow police tape around the house itself. The house looked even worse from the outside, as it was leaning to the side and an entire section of the upstairs had collapsed in. It looked as though it had been hit with a giant hammer. Standing nearby and arguing with a police officer over why he couldn't go closer was Barry. Right behind him stood Leon, Sheva, and Kirsty.

"Hey!" Claire shouted, waving to get their attention.

Leon noticed and tapped Barry on the shoulder. He turned around and saw them. He ran to meet them partway, with the others close behind.

"You're all right!" he shouted. "We heard the explosion, and I called to see if you knew where it was, but when there was no answer… Well, we came right down here to the house and—" He had been looking at each of the three of them as he spoke, and he stopped speaking with a frown. "Where's Chris?"

"He's at the hospital," Claire said.

"He was caught in the explosion," Jill added, staring in the direction of the house.

"What?" Barry shouted. "Chris was hurt? This is terrible! How could this happen, anyway?"

"This was no accident," Sheva said, staring at the wreckage. "Someone wanted Chris, and possibly everyone in the house, to be injured or killed."

Kirsty squeaked and put her hands over her mouth.

"The police should be able to help us find out who's responsible." Leon's expression turned even darker. "Unless, of course, the police are already on their side."

His words sent another thread of uneasiness to join the growing knot in Claire's stomach. Thinking like that would have them not trusting anyone. She glanced at the police officers, ostensibly doing a thorough investigation. Were any of them working for the Organization? Had the attack been orchestrated by a stranger or by someone in the town?

An even more concerning problem was why the security alarms hadn't gone off. She knew her brother's security system; no one should have been able to get close to the house without raising an alarm so loud it would have roused the entire neighborhood. More likely than not, the culprit would have been trapped too. Had they found a way to get around it…or had they already been _in_ the house?

"Claire, what is it?" Steve asked, as she shuddered. She shook her head, not wanting to explain.

Jill got the attention of the police officer Barry had been arguing with, and explained that she needed her keys. She described them to him and explained where they would be, and he sent another officer up to the house to retrieve them.

"Will the three of you be all right, then?" Leon asked.

Claire looked at the other two and then nodded.

"Unless they're attacked too," Kirsty muttered under her breath.

_She really has a knack for saying just the wrong thing, doesn't she?_ She shivered again and wished she didn't feel like doom was hanging over them.

xXx

Jill's house was only a couple of streets away, and their company split ways when they reached it. It was smaller than Chris's, since she didn't need the extra room for a sibling who dropped by from time to time. The grass out front was starting to look wild, and Jill shook her head as they passed it.

"I'll mow that tomorrow," she commented, and Claire suspected she was attempting to ground herself with normal thoughts.

Now that the adrenaline following the attack had subsided, Claire felt exhausted. As they passed the clock on the kitchen wall, she saw that it was three in the morning. Steve, looking as tired as she felt, stumbled against the wall and mumbled something about the couch.

"It's over there," Jill said, pointing as she yawned. "I'll get you a blanket from upstairs. Come on, Claire—I don't have a bunk bed, but we'll work something out."

She tiredly wished Steve a good night and followed her upstairs. There were only a couple of rooms up there, and Jill turned in to the first one on the right. A small bed sat in one corner, with a dresser and a writing desk filling some of the remaining space.

Jill walked over to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. She dug through it for a while and then emerged with a rolled up sleeping bag in her arms. She reached in again and pulled out a fuzzy blanket.

"I hate making you sleep on the floor," she commented, looking at the sleeping back.

"It's fine," Claire assured her, taking it. She felt so tired she wasn't even sure she needed the comfort of a sleeping bag. The floor itself looked inviting. "Don't worry about it."

"If you say so. Well, I better take this blanket to Steve."

While she was gone, Claire arranged the sleeping bag so that she wouldn't be stepped on in the middle of the night. She climbed into it and shifted around, trying to settle. She wanted to sleep, but her mind was buzzing with worry about Chris. They had said he was fine, and he had better remain that way.

She wondered if he had seen his attacker, or if he had been asleep. Had he woken up before being knocked unconscious and had time to try to escape? What would he think when he woke up in the hospital? He was a little better at dealing with medical situations than Jill was, but she knew he was edgy around people who reminded him in any way of the past.

She heard Jill return, mumbled a good night to her, and then closed her eyes. There was so much to think about…and yet she was so tired…

It seemed like only a moment later that her eyes snapped open. There was daylight coming through the window, so it had to be morning, but she was so tired that she couldn't imagine why she had awoken. Then she heard it again—a quiet sound coming from the doorway to the room.

"Psst!"

She sat up and edged forward until she could see. Steve was standing in the hall, peeking through. When he saw her, he beckoned.

Claire suppressed a groan and pulled herself out of the sleeping bag.

"What's going on?" Jill asked.

"It's just Steve," she sighed, shaking her head. She pulled on a pair of socks and considered changing before talking to him, but he was still standing in the doorway and he had seen her in her pajamas throughout the ordeal last night anyway.

"I couldn't sleep," he explained, when she reached the hallway.

Claire stopped, stared at him, and then walked back into the bedroom. She looked at the clock on Jill's dresser and then came back out. "Couldn't sleep? It's eight in the morning!"

He looked down at his feet. "I didn't want to wake you."

She wasn't sure if he meant that he really hadn't slept all night long, or if he had simply had a rough night. Either way, she sighed and followed him downstairs. He went into the living room and sat down on the couch, rolling up his blanket. She sat beside him and looked around.

In some ways, it was a very plain room. Blue drapes covered the windows, a television sat against one wall, and there were a few chairs in addition to the couch. However, the walls stood out, as Jill had framed photographs all over the place. They were mainly of her and Chris, although Claire saw other familiar faces looking out as well. There was a picture of the founding members of the B.S.A.A., and, despite having lost nearly everything in Raccoon City, Jill had somehow gotten a photograph of the S.T.A.R.S. members—probably from Barry. It was positioned slightly off-center, and Claire suspected that the section being obscured by the picture frame was where Wesker was standing.

"Claire," Steve said, and stopped.

She looked at him. He had looked tired at the hospital, with little surprise, but he looked even worse now. Maybe he really had been awake the entire time. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"No!" he cried, with a vehemence that startled her. "I… I…" He slumped. "I don't know what to do. Last night… I didn't think it would be like this."

"What do you mean?" She put a hand on his arm, trying to reassure him.

"When I…died," he began, his voice cracking slightly, "I—I thought I'd never see you again. Then when I found you there at the manor, I… I just…" He shook his head and tried again. "I thought everything was going to be fine! It was crazy, since that monster was there, but I thought that all the real bad stuff was _over_!"

"I understand," she said softly. "We all thought it was over, too."

"Nothing's right. This isn't how it's supposed to be. You and I, we should be…we should be… Well, we shouldn't be sitting around here worrying about your brother, you know?"

"I know." Her thoughts flew back to Chris again. She hoped he was doing okay. He had to be doing okay.

"Claire." She looked her, and Steve met her gaze with a sharp, almost intense look. "I have to tell you—I'll be here for you." His shoulders sagged again. "I don't think I've been much help so far, but I mean it. If ever you need to talk or anything, or if there's anything I can do to stop the Organization, call on me."

She smiled. "Thanks, Steve. I'll be counting on it."

He gave her a small, sad smile, and then hugged her.

xXx

As soon as the call from the hospital came, they hurried over. Jill drove, since hers was their only vehicle that wasn't sitting behind the police tape. They debated about calling the others, but finally decided to wait to make sure Chris was allowed regular visitors. There was a chance that an exception was being made for them, since they had been so anxious.

Jill parked in the visitors' parking lot, and they walked in through the visitors' entrance. Claire wondered if Dr. Jones had been apprised of the situation yet. Despite this being more business connected to the B.S.A.A., he hadn't been involved last night, most likely because even he needed to sleep sometimes.

They stopped at the desk on the way in and Jill said, "We're looking for Chris Redfield's room; we were told he was allowed visitors."

The receptionist nodded and pulled out a list. "What did you said the name was?"

"Redfield, Chris."

"Oh, Room 122, straight down the next two hallways and to the left," she said, without even consulting the paper.

"That was fast," Jill commented.

"Well, there's been a lot of activity down there."

"Why?" Claire asked, alarmed. She didn't like to hear that there had been a lot of activity around her brother's room, especially since it seemed like he was out of intensive care and therefore should be doing much better.

The receptionist shook her head. "Oh, he's fine. He just caused some trouble, that's all."

Claire raised her eyebrows. Chris was never one to pester people, and she couldn't imagine how he could be causing trouble in a hospital. She supposed it could be connected to that paranoia she had worried about. Perhaps he had come forth with an unusual request, like asking for a background check on every member of the staff in contact with him.

Still wondering about it, she followed Jill down the hallways as the receptionist had instructed. Jill looked like she was getting more nervous with every minute they were in the hospital. For that matter, Steve was starting to turn pale.

"What's wrong?" she whispered. She wondered if he was reacting to some subconscious memory from his thirteen years of imprisonment.

He just shook his head and offered a weak smile. It wasn't convincing.

They didn't encounter anyone until they reached Room 122. Jill peeked in and then entered the room, with them right behind her.

"Jill!" Chris cried, from the bed. "Claire! Steve!" He beamed. "I didn't think I'd have visitors this early."

"We'd have been in to see you last night if they had let us," Jill said, smiling fondly at him and sitting down near his bed. She scanned the room with an uncomfortable look on her face.

Claire and Steve also sat down, and she looked around. It was a fairly standard hospital room, with chairs against the wall facing the bed and a television mounted near the ceiling. It was a single room, and the window against the side wall let in the sunlight. Chris looked decent enough considering what he had been through, although he seemed to have bandages and splints on every visible part of his body. He was sitting up in the bed, with the sheet over his legs, and he was wired up to a number of machines that seemed to be there for monitoring purposes.

"I'm so glad you're all right," Claire said.

"Thanks." He gave her a slightly puzzled smile. "So…what happened, anyway? I was having an awfully strange dream with a lot of lights and noises, and then I woke up feeling like I'd been run over."

"Your room blew up," Steve said quietly. "We were all afraid you were dead."

He didn't respond for a while. "Oh," he finally said, apparently unable to think of a good response for being told that your room had blown up.

Claire tried to share a relieved smile with Jill and saw that she looked like the room was getting to her. Her eyes were darting all around, and every time one of Chris's machines beeped—which was often—she flinched.

Chris noticed, too. "You don't have to stay in here, Jill."

"No, I'm fine," she answered, a little too quickly. "I want to stay by you, Chris."

"If it's making you uncomfortable, I don't want—"

"I'm fine!"

"Well," Claire said, speaking up quickly to cut through the awkward tension that had filled the air, "I heard you've been causing trouble, Chris."

"Oh. They, ah, told you about that?" He started to turn red.

That was enough to shake Jill out of her panic for a moment, and she raised her eyebrows at him. "All they said was that you caused trouble. What did you do?"

"Oh, it wasn't anything major… It was just a little accident." He looked away, avoiding all of their gazes, and mumbled something very quietly.

"What?" Claire asked. Now she was really getting curious about what he had done.

He coughed and repeated a little bit more loudly, "I hit my doctor."

Unable to help herself, Claire burst out laughing. Between how afraid she had been since the explosion and the mental image she now had in her mind, she couldn't help herself. She caught a glimpse of the looks on Jill and Steve's faces and started laughing harder. Of all the things it could have been, she would never have guessed…

"It's not funny!" Chris protested. "I—" He cut off sharply with a glance towards the door and then he covered his face. "Oh no…"

Claire looked over just as Dr. Jones walked into the room. He had a splint on his nose and an amused expression on his face. "Hello, Chris, it's Dr. Jones!" he greeted cheerfully. He looked around at the rest of them. "Hello, visitors, we seem to be seeing a lot of one another these days!"

Steve looked at him and then stared at Chris. "You _broke_ his nose?"

Chris mumbled something too quietly to be heard again.

"There has to be a story behind this," Claire said.

"Oh, it's very simple," Dr. Jones said. "I came in for work and found out what had happened, so I decided to check up on him with one of the nurses. I walked in, saw that everything was normal, the nurse asked 'How's he doing, Albert?' and then my patient punched me in the nose."

Claire struggled hard to keep from laughing again. It really wasn't funny.

"I thought I was the paranoid one," Jill commented. She looked a bit like she wanted to engage in hysterical laughter of her own—although, with slightly more _hysteria_ than _laughter_, from the sound of her voice. "Chris, he looks nothing like Wesker."

"I didn't have time to _look_!"

"No harm done," Dr. Jones said, "I mean, other than the harm to my nose, of course. There's just a new standing order that no one is to call me by my first name until further notice, especially in this section of the hospital. Plus, we don't have to ask questions like 'Has he regained his strength yet?' because we know he's strong enough to break someone's nose."

"Next time I'll look first," Chris promised.

"_Next_ time?" Dr. Jones took an exaggerated step back, and Chris shook his head and laughed.

Claire found that she could relax at last. He was fine. Things weren't as bad as they could have been, not by a long shot.

xXx

They stayed for most of the morning and then returned to Jill's house to see what they could find to eat. They had only been in for a few minutes when the phone rang. Jill answered, and Claire wondered if it was Barry checking on the situation. The conversation was very short, however, and mainly consisted of Jill saying, "I see."

She hung up the phone and turned to them. "That was the police. It's not good news."

All of Claire's worries about the attacker, as well as Leon's cynical suggestion about the police, flashed through her mind again. "What is it?"

"Basically, they've got nothing. The area around Chris's room had been surrounded by small, concealed bombs. They were blown up remotely. That means that the person who set them could have done it at any time and could have been already long gone when they pressed that button. The police also said that if there was any evidence left behind, it was destroyed in the blast."

Claire grimaced. Once again, the Organization had struck and disappeared, leaving nothing that could be used to track them down.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: By the way, I think it's time I warn you that I do subscribe to a particular theory that Capcom could still shoot down and send me out of the realm of possible canon. It's a risk I had to take when writing this story.<em>


	18. Chapter 18: A Strange Man, Years Ago

Chapter 18: A Strange Man, Years Ago

Jill sat at the small table in the restaurant, nervously drumming her hands against the white tablecloth. The smell of food filled the air, but she wasn't hungry. Her eyes were fixed on the door, waiting for her contact to arrive. Her contact, a Dr. Morgan, would probably recognize her first. After all, she knew she stood out like a sore thumb.

Everyone else was dressed in casual clothes, laughing and talking to one another easily. She was sitting alone, dressed in her B.S.A.A. uniform, eyeing up everyone who neared as a possible threat.

A waiter, all dressed in white, walked over to her table and asked her something. She was glad she had brushed up on her Spanish a little before coming.

"_No, no tengo hambre,_" she said, which earned her a strange look from the waiter. He walked away, no doubt wondering why she was sitting in a restaurant if she wasn't hungry. She smiled briefly and then resumed waiting.

After everyone had visited Chris again and seen that he was doing well, they had made plans of what to do next, splitting up to follow various leads. Sheva and Leon were out searching for the fortress mentioned in the diary entry. Claire and Steve had gone back to the city where Rathbourne had lived, to see if there was any chance of investigating the grounds further. Barry and Kirsty were checking with stores and military outfits, attempting to track down the purchaser of the bombs that had blown up Chris's room.

And Jill was sitting in a restaurant in Panama, waiting for a psychiatrist and preparing to take action if it proved to be a trap.

When she had checked back the previous afternoon, she finally had gotten a credible response to her question. Dr. Sarah Morgan, an American psychiatrist who had moved to Panama and opened her office there, reported that she had seen a man with the same symptoms described in Jill's question. While she admitted that she didn't know very much about the condition he'd had, it was such a close match to what she remembered that she was sure it had to be the same thing.

Jill's shock had been quickly overcome with excitement—and then disappointment, as Dr. Morgan was reluctant to give out any more information. Taking a risk, she explained who she was and how important this might be. The other woman had asked to meet in person and then, if she saw that Jill really was who she said she was, she might be willing to talk about it. Jill had agreed to come to Panama, wanting to seem as agreeable as possible. They made plans to meet at a particular restaurant at two in the afternoon, with Dr. Morgan wearing a feathered hat and Jill wearing her uniform so they would recognize each other.

She knew it was very possible it was a trap. Someone did not want them to know what had happened to Horbes, and now she had announced her intentions to learn more and come to a strange location alone. The others had agreed that it was too good a chance to pass up, although they had wanted to send someone with her. She had argued against it, since they had their own leads to follow, and then Kirsty had finally brought them to a compromise by suggesting that Jill give them the address of the restaurant. That way, they could find her if it seemed that something had gone wrong.

Nothing would go wrong, however. She wasn't letting her guard down for anything. She worried that it made her come across as hostile. Several of the restaurants patrons had greeted her, only to shrink away at her suspicious look.

A familiar silhouette caught her eye, and she flinched in surprise as the cloaked woman glided past the restaurant. Once she was past the windows, Jill couldn't see where she had gone.

_Is she following me?_ she wondered. That was strange, especially since she spent so much of her time running in the opposite direction. Then again, there was the worrying fact that no one else had ever seen her…

Reminding herself that she had more important things to worry about than personal hallucinations, Jill resumed watching the door. A woman with sandy hair walked in and looked at her for a minute, and she frowned suspiciously back. Although she walked to a nearby table, she began studying the menu, and Jill relaxed. A few more patrons also entered, none of whom matched her contact's description. Finally, a tall, dark-haired woman walked in wearing a black hat with a feathered plume. Several people turned to look, but she looked around until she noticed Jill.

Jill waved her over, tensing in preparation for any tricks.

The woman reached the table and sat down. "Jill Valentine?"

"Sarah Morgan?"

"That's me."

"And I'm Jill." She had brought her identification in case it was necessary to prove her connection with the B.S.A.A. "I'm glad to meet you."

"Same." Dr. Morgan smiled. "I recognize you, you know. You really are Jill Valentine of the B.S.A.A. I half-expected this was some crazy scam. Is my information really important?"

"It could be," Jill said. She relaxed somewhat, although she didn't let her guard down entirely. "The man whose symptoms I described may have a connection to the recent bioterrorism attacks."

The psychiatrist's expression grew somber. "Ah, I see. It's terrible what's going on, isn't it? I will help you in any way I can, although I warn you that my clients' information is confidential. I cannot tell you who he was, or speak of him in any way other than as a general case study."

She was slightly disappointed, but she nodded. "I understand."

The waiter came over, and Dr. Morgan ordered a small salad. Jill waved him away again without ordering anything. She thought again about the suspicious presence of the cloaked woman and glanced out the window. No one was there, but she still wondered if the plague doctor—assuming she did exist—had come to find out how much Dr. Morgan knew.

"I hope this won't put you in any danger from our enemies," she said quietly.

"If I can do anything to help, I won't run away because of fear." The salad arrived, and she took it with a smile and then turned back to Jill. "Please, let me tell you my story, and then you can see if there is anything in it that can help you."

Jill nodded and pulled out a pad of paper she had brought along to take notes. She readied her pencil. "Go ahead."

"It happened about five or six years ago. This strange man came in for his appointment, very quiet and subdued. He did not respond to any questions directed his way, although he did seem capable of following instructions, much like the man you described. He was an adult—possibly middle-aged, although it was hard to tell; I remember that I kept looking at him, wondering why his age was so hard to determine. He came with his mother, who handled all of the speaking, since he could not. I know you probably don't care very much about hearing about the mother, but she stood out in my mind almost more than the son. She was warm and concerned and seemed extremely genuine…but I found myself distrusting her.

"I wouldn't have had any suspicions if I hadn't been looking out the window that day, before they came. I had a break in between appointments, and it was a beautiful day. I had the window open and was enjoying the sunshine while I finished my lunch. I saw two strangers coming down the street: a man, shuffling along quietly with his head down, and a woman who, even that far away, seemed cold and arrogant. To my great surprise, the man arrived for the next scheduled appointment, and the woman's demeanor was entirely different. I thought I had simply let my imagination run away with me, but afterwards I wasn't so sure—I'll explain why when we get to it.

"She told me that her son was prone to these strange bouts of delirium that seemed entirely psychological in nature. With some prodding, we convinced him to speak, and he began begging me for help. He spoke about shadows that wouldn't leave him alone, dark _things_ that were attacking him, and other similar ravings. The more he talked, the more convinced I became that he was walking in his own, personal nightmare world. The world he was seeing around him was not the reality I saw, and in his quieter moments, he was either hiding or believed that the chaos around him had died down. There were brief moments of lucidity, where he asked me who I was, but for the most part, his mind was nowhere in this world.

"His mother and I talked at length about what had happened. She said that he had been sick and caught in a fever dream, one which seemed to summon up his worst nightmares and from there progressed to other terrors that he cried out about. Essentially, he never woke up from the nightmare, although his body recovered. The fear he felt while caught in the fever dream was so great that it caused irreparable psychological trauma—but until I saw your question, I had never even _heard_ of such a thing. Indeed, after that day, I never saw him again. I said that it was possible he would recover on his own, but that I would really need to observe him and run tests to be of any help. His mother said she would make him another appointment, but she never did.

"Now, I told you I'd explain why I never got over my distrust of her. It was such a fleeting thing that I might have missed it if I hadn't seen her outside before she reached the office. We were finishing up, and she looked at me…and for just a moment—as crazy as this may sound—I was certain she was going to kill me. I don't even know _why_; I just had the sudden, unshakable impression that I was about to die. Then she said something very strange, and I'll never forget it: 'Well, he might find out about an investigation.' Then she left, and her son with her. I have to admit, I was glad that she never came back."

When Dr. Morgan had finished her tale, Jill set down her pencil and frowned. Now more than ever, she was convinced that this was important. The woman in the story had acted just as suspicious as Rathbourne, complete with feigned concern for the afflicted person. Had she been another operative of the Organization? Were they working on something that resulted in people being broken like that?

"You know," the psychologist added, "the woman did seem very concerned about what had caused it. That was part of the reason I expected them to come back. She really wanted to know what it was about him that had given the dream such power. I wish I had gotten an answer."

"So do I," Jill said. "You can't give me her name either, can you?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

The thought of a nightmare harming someone to such a degree was unthinkable. Perhaps the woman had lied about the fever dream. That seemed most probable, especially since Rathbourne's defense had been that it was an accident with a drug. They wouldn't have wanted to reveal the truth, even in confidence. Still, Dr. Morgan's assessment of him never truly waking up rang true with Jill's own appraisal that Horbes had been trapped in his own mind.

Rathbourne was dead. If only there were some way to track down that woman.

"What about what she said at the end?" Jill asked, remembering the conclusion of the story. "Between your suspicions and what she said, it sounds like she was afraid that killing you would cause an investigation that 'he' might find out about. Do you have any idea of who she was talking about?"

Dr. Morgan shook her head. "I was hoping you might."

"Not with as little as I know," she sighed. It could have been someone else in the Organization, someone with more power, who would not have appreciated casual murders. A murder investigation would have drawn more attention to them than any testimony by Dr. Morgan.

She got up and shook Dr. Morgan's hand. "Thank you for your help. I think there's definitely a connection here." She hesitated, as a flicker of gray caught her eye from outside. "I have another question, actually."

"What is it?"

"If someone had started having a recurring hallucination of another person—except _not_ another person as such, but actually their past self—what would you think the problem was?"

Dr. Morgan frowned. "Again, I can only speculate here without more information. I would think that the person was bothered by their past, bothered greatly enough for it to manifest itself in such a form. Perhaps there was something from the past that they couldn't let go of, or something else tying them there."

"Thank you again," Jill said, even though she still had no idea on how to solve that problem. Of course that part of her past bothered her greatly; there was no escaping that. "I'll be going now."

"Good luck."

xXx

She returned home without any problem greater than seeing a cloaked figure lurking around distant corners, and she was pleasantly surprised that there had been no trap waiting for her. She soon realized that she was the only one back. The others were all still out on their various missions. She left messages at Barry's house and Sheva and Kirsty's hotel rooms, suggesting a meeting as soon as everyone was ready. Then, she changed into a more comfortable outfit and checked the news.

Bold letters across the bottom of the screen announced another T-virus attack. She swore and turned up the volume, realizing with horror that the camera was showing the restaurant she had just been at, now barricaded off and surrounded by police and rescue workers. A caption appeared underneath the headline, announcing that the outbreak seemed to have been contained. That, at least, was a relief.

The scene shrunk to fit a small screen behind the news reporter, who was restating that it was a small attack and nothing to become unduly alarmed about. "The exact cause is unknown, but current reports indicate that a patron of the restaurant was attacked by an unknown assailant, who infected her with the T-virus and then fled. This patron, a Dr. Sarah Morgan, was in the process of calling the police to report the assault…"

Jill turned off the television, feeling cold inside. Another person who had tried to help them fight the Organization had been made a target. _Morgan didn't know enough to make her a threat!_ This had to stop. She left the living room and went to work.

While her house was fairly small and less suited for houseguests than Chris's was, there was one room that was her secret pride: the library. Just off from the dining room, from the outside it was easy to mistake for a closet. Once inside, however, one could see all of the bookshelves and filing cabinets that made it so valuable. She held not only books for enjoyment there, but also copies of every important file, memo, and record they had ever found or received. She even had copies of the files from the Spencer Estate there, as chance had kept them in Chris's hands. A computer in the corner contained even more files, including copies of the data Kirsty had pulled from Rathbourne's computer.

She didn't have much to go on. She was sure she would have remembered if they had come across anything like this before. She knew nothing about the delirium except that it had afflicted a man five or six years ago and then had struck Horbes a few years later. All she knew about the other man was what Dr. Morgan had told her.

But if they had anything at all that might provide a connection, she was going to find it. She would find it if she had to read every file in the library.


	19. Chapter 19: One By One

Chapter 19: One By One

Rathbourne's estate had been abandoned. There were still signs warning people away, but any investigations into the explosion had ceased. Not a person could be seen, and the manor had been reduced to a pile of rubble, with the ground around it partially caved in. The grounds were mostly intact, but they hadn't come away unscathed. The grass had been burned and now only charred land surrounded the site of the manor. The gazebo was in ruins from the G-mutant's attack, and holes had been knocked in the hedges. The garden, clearly visible without the manor in the way, was in a shambles, with only the most distant plants still feebly trying to reach for the sun.

Claire and Steve had walked from the airport, and now they stopped casually in front of the yard as though they belonged there. They checked to make sure that no one was watching, and then they continued onto the property. They both were armed, her with a handgun and shotgun and Steve with a machine gun, because they didn't know what they might find.

"First we have to find that crank," Claire said, approaching the wreckage of the gazebo. Splintered wood lay all around, and she could see the cushions from the seats had been scattered. From amidst the pile, she noticed the gleam of metal, and she pushed the debris out of the way.

The crank lay there, and she grabbed it. She had been afraid that either the police or one of Rathbourne's Organization associates might have combed through the ruins and taken it away.

"Get down!" Steve whispered, diving behind the wood. "Someone's walking down the street."

Claire dropped to the ground, lying low enough that the remains of the gazebo would hide her from anyone who didn't look too closely. She didn't think anyone would ask too many questions if they saw them, but if they did, it would be awfully hard to explain why they were walking around holding a crank.

Peeking out, she waited until the coast was clear and then got to her feet. Steve stood up as well. He looked around and then nodded. He had been quieter than usual during the entire trip, but he said nothing was wrong.

"Let's go," she said, having already explained about the place they had found at the end of the hedge labyrinth.

They took off in the direction of the hedges, running so that they would be in sight for only a short while. The labyrinth was still in fairly good condition, although pieces of the house were lying along the paths from where they had smashed through the hedge walls. Nothing disturbed them as they hurried down the path, although Claire was alert for any Hunters or other B.O.W.s that might still be lying in wait.

"This is weird," Steve commented when they reached the end.

The area looked just as it had when she had last seen it, complete with the scattered flower petals. They were only slightly the worse for wear for having had an explosion nearby. In the center sat the altar with its mechanized archway, and she walked up to it and pushed the crank into its slot.

She turned it, and as it turned, the archway began to writhe. Cables twisted and slithered across one another, moving faster as the mechanism was activated. The altar shivered under the force and began to lift up, revealing a stairway leading down into darkness. At last the motion of the archway ceased, and when she let go of the crank, the altar remained vertical.

"Well, let's go," she said, starting towards it.

"Wait, shouldn't I go first?" Steve asked, stepping in front of her.

"Why?" She raised her eyebrows. "Because you're the man?"

He flushed. "No, it's because I want to protect you."

"What if _I_ want to protect _you_?" she asked.

"That's different."

"No it's not," she said, starting down the stairs. She had gotten a light that could be clipped onto her shirt collar, and she turned it on now. It lit up the area in front of her for a couple of yards.

"Hey!" She heard hurried footsteps as he ran after her, and she had to suppress a laugh. "Come on, Claire, I don't need protection!"

"You need it as much as I do," she said, glancing back at him. "Can't we just agree to watch each other's backs?"

"Oh, all right."

The stairs came to an end in a small room, with one door directly in front of them and another off to the side. The one in front of them had no visible way of opening it, but there was a lever on the wall beside it. On the other side of the door was a hole that looked like it might need a lever of its own, and that suspicion was confirmed when Steve pulled the lever and it did nothing.

"I think we have to go this way first," Claire said, walking towards the side door. "There should be another lever someplace."

"Just once I'd like to see these crazy scientists build a normal place. Locks and keys, that's all they need," Steve grumbled.

"Well, they _are_ crazy," she reminded him, before opening the door.

It opened onto a long hallway, and her light showed that ten sarcophagi stood guarding the way, five on each side. Nothing moved, and she took a tentative step forward. She and Steve began to creep down the hallway, undisturbed until they reached the first pair of sentinels. Claire felt the floor shift slightly beneath her feet, and the two sarcophagi burst open with blinding light.

She whirled towards one, raising her gun, and Steve did the same. However, nothing came out. The sarcophagus she was facing was empty, save for an odd lamp up where the head would be. It shone brightly, but parts of it had been darkened, so that the light came only from certain areas of the lamp.

Turning her head, she saw that the sarcophagus on Steve's side was the same, though the arrangement of light on the lamp was different. Approaching the casket, she reached up and found that the lamp could be moved. At its lowest point, its light shone on the floor directly in between the two sarcophagi, creating an intricate design.

"That can't be a coincidence," she commented.

Steve had begun experimenting with his lamp, and he let out a sudden cry. "Claire! I think they're letters!"

"What?"

Rather than answer, he centered his lamp's light so that it shone in the same spot as hers, and then she saw it too. With both beams on top of one another, the lit spots were coming together to form letters. She switched off her personal light momentarily to increase the darkness in the hallway. They worked together, making minor adjustments until the words could be read.

_When the sun's light smites the serpent  
><em>_The spider waits to strike from behind_

"Does that mean anything to you?" Steve asked, frowning at it.

"No," she answered, but she pulled out a piece of paper and copied down the message, in case it became relevant later on. "Come on."

She turned her light back on and they continued down the hallway. As soon as they reached the second pair of sarcophagi, she felt the floor move beneath her feet again. There was a sound like a crack of thunder, as all eight remaining sarcophagi burst open, revealing the decaying zombies they had been hiding. They stumbled towards them, groaning and reaching out with peeling hands.

Claire shot the two closest to her in the heads, as Steve opened fire on the ones on his side of the hall. The next two on her side took more shots, as they were further away and harder to aim at, but soon all of the zombies had crumbled to the ground.

With all of its undead occupants revealed, the hallway held no further secrets as they crossed it to the door at the end. Past the door, a marble statue, the only thing in the tiny room, greeted them with angry stone eyes. It was the statue of an old man, with the lines of his face and wisps of hair etched into the stone, and flowing robes carved around his body. His hands were folded in front of him and to his left sat another door.

Steve started towards the door, but Claire stopped him, noticing a scratch on the floor around the base of the statue. It was curved and worn enough that it looked like something had been moved along that path several times.

"I think the statue can be turned around," she said, putting her hands against the stone. She pushed, but it didn't budge. "Help me here."

He got on the other side, and together they worked on twisting the statue. It shifted slightly and started to slowly turn. The statue was heavy; the designers hadn't intended this to be easy.

"Are you sure this is important?" he puffed, as they forced the statue to move.

She ignored him, saving her breath for the effort of the task. Finally, they had turned the statue enough so that the side that had been facing the wall was now visible from the room. They stepped away from it to take a look.

The other side of the statue depicted the same man, but this time a blindfold had been carved to cover his eyes. Instead of being folded, his hands were cupped in front of him, and a silver medallion gleamed in his grip. Claire stepped forward and pulled it free.

The medallion depicted a serpent, coiled in two complete loops to form the symbol for infinity. Around the border of the medallion was inscribed: _And in his blindness, the elder released the serpent upon the world._

"There's a fountain in the garden that needed three medallions to get through," Claire said, remembering what Sheva had discovered on the night of the party. "I bet that's what that message was talking about, too. Well, we've got one—the serpent."

"So we need the sun and the spider?" Steve asked. "Great. Do these people ever write riddles that make sense?"

She rolled her eyes and started towards the door. "Come on."

The next room branched off in several directions, and a quick trip down the first showed that it twisted and wrapped around with no sign as to where it was going. When they returned to the main area, Claire grimaced. This reminded her of Jill's description of the secret way that connected the sections of Rathbourne's manor.

"Look," Steve said, pointing up. Up on the ceiling, a message had been written. She aimed the light at it, and the words shone as if lit from within.

DO YOU KNOW WHOM YOU'RE DEALING WITH?  
>IF YOU DARE CONTINUE, FOLLOW MY LIGHT<p>

Frowning at it, she started to turn her attention back to the passages, when Steve caught her arm. "Wait, Claire! It's reflecting the light back."

She focused her light back on the words again and saw that he was right. The letters had been made out of some reflective substance, and it was shining her light back at her. Reading the message a second time and then looking down without moving, she saw that a beam of light was being aimed right at one of the passages.

She looked at Steve, and he nodded. Together, they started for that passage. As had been the case with the one they had explored, it twisted and turned without rhyme or reason. There seemed to be no danger, although after they had walked for several minutes, they reached another intersection. Claire saw the glimmer of another reflective message above them, and she pointed her light at it.

KEEP GOING  
>YOUR NIGHTMARE IS FOLLOWING YOU<p>

She glanced over her shoulder nervously, but there was nothing there. She felt nervous now, though, since they had so far encountered so few threats in this place. Taking a deep breath, she looked down and saw that a beam of light was once again reflected towards the presumably correct direction.

"Claire," Steve began, as they started down the hallway, "I…wanted to ask you something."

She glanced at him. She couldn't remember when she had ever seen him looking so solemn, except for at the time of his death. "What is it?" she asked, worried. He had been unusually quiet since his return.

He sighed and walked alongside her silently for a few moments, before finally speaking. "You said you waited for me…but…you should do what you want to do. You don't have to worry about my feelings for you, if you don't want to."

She didn't point out that that wasn't a question. From the look on his face, he was dead serious and probably wouldn't appreciate a joke. "Oh, Steve," she said, feeling the awkwardness rising between them like a wall. "It's not like that. I just feel like I never had enough time to really get to know you… I missed you, and I care about you. I want to give our relationship a try."

She had thought that would cheer him up, but he still looked concerned. "It's not the same, though. I…"

Claire stopped and put her hand on his shoulder to pull him to a stop beside her. "All right, Steve. What's bothering you?"

He shifted from foot to foot for a while and then said, "I don't remember those thirteen years, but I—can tell I didn't age quite right. When we met, our ages were really close. Now, though…"

She smiled. "Does that really matter, though? It doesn't make a difference to me."

He still looked concerned. "Okay, thanks. That's not all, though. I… I…" He faltered for a while longer and then let out a long sigh. "I'm not fully human anymore, Claire. Doesn't that…matter?"

"Steve…" She reached out and took his hand. "You're still you. If I didn't know what had happened, I wouldn't even be able to tell—and," she continued on hurriedly, seeing him open his mouth to begin again, "even if the T-Veronica virus manifests itself, it won't matter to me."

"Thanks," he said, but he still seemed unhappy. He took a deep breath. "Claire, I keep thinking—" He cut off, his gaze snapping to something over her shoulder. "RUN!"

Startled, she started to turn, but Steve put his hands on her shoulders and propelled her in front of him, shooting a few rounds of ammo behind him as he started running. She broke into a sprint, taking his word for it that there wasn't enough time to see what was behind them. Even he had stopped shooting and was concentrating on running.

Claire thought back ominously to the message in the intersection. _Your nightmare is following you_. Had that been some sort of warning? With all the horrors she had seen, she wanted to turn and try to fight, but the panicked look on Steve's face as he ran behind her convinced her otherwise.

The passage came to an end in a room that contained only an oaken desk, pushed back against the wall in front of her. There were no other doors and no places to hide; she came to a halt and spun around, raising her gun.

"It's a dead end!" she shouted to Steve's questioning look.

He nodded and whirled to face the passage. He raised his machine gun and opened fire. She squinted beyond where he was shooting, but she couldn't see anything but shadows. However, after going through another clip of ammo, Steve lowered his gun, breathing heavily.

"What was it?" Claire asked, walking towards the entrance. She couldn't see anything there, not even a body.

"A ghost."

She turned to stare at him, certain she had heard wrong. "A _what_?"

"A ghost," he repeated.

She hadn't heard wrong. "Steve, there's no such thing as ghosts."

He raised his eyebrows. "There's 'no such thing' as zombies, either, but Umbrella found a way. That was a ghost, I'm telling you—flying through the air with tattered black robes, trying to grab us with these awful claws, swinging chains as it chased us…

Claire glanced towards the passage nervously. "Where did it go?" She found it hard to believe that a ghost would be afraid of bullets.

Steve frowned, and then he slowly nodded. "I understand now," he breathed. "My doubts give them strength." He turned to her with a look of resolute determination. "I won't doubt anymore, Claire. No matter what it takes, I won't let them hurt you."

She stared at him, at a complete loss for words. _Could it really have been a ghost?_ she wondered. After everything that had happened, she hadn't thought she would disbelieve any story, but this seemed far too supernatural. But if it hadn't been a ghost, what was it? She didn't like to think that he had just been imagining things.

"Let's check out this desk," she said, changing the subject.

The desk was smooth and polished; a slight line going around the front indicated the presence of a drawer, but she could see no way of getting it open. She felt all around it for a hidden catch and then looked back at Steve to see if he had any ideas. He looked distracted, though and almost distressed, probably from the encounter with the ghost. She turned her attention to the top of the desk.

Most of it was unmarked, but she looked closely, trying to find any flaw that might indicate a secret button. At last she saw it, a tiny design raised up from the corner of the desk. It looked disturbingly like the B.S.A.A.'s emblem, and she thought about Rathbourne's position on the board of directors of the G.P.C., who had funded the B.S.A.A.

Claire put her hand on the design and pressed it down. There was a quiet _snick_, and then the front of the desk fell open. A drawer shot out, nearly hitting her as she sidestepped to get out of its way. Steve had finally come over to see what was going on, and she reached in and pulled out a glimmering gold medallion.

It featured a sun, and the outside was inscribed with another caption: _And the light blinded the serpent even as the serpent blinded the light._

"That's two," she said, putting it in her pocket beside the first medallion.

Steve reached into the drawer and pulled out something she hadn't seen—the missing lever from the first room. "Let's go!"

Pleased to see something of his old enthusiasm returning, she gave him a smile and hurried back into the passage after him. Nothing—supernatural or otherwise—bothered them on their way back through the building. When at last they reached the first room, she stood by the first lever while he inserted the new one.

"Ready?" she called, once it was in.

"Ready!"

They pulled the levers together, and for a second nothing happened. Then, a clanking and creaking started up from behind the wall, and the door began to lift into the air. It continued its ponderous journey upwards until the doorway was entirely opened. It settled into place, and Claire stepped through the doorway, into a very strange room.

She could see the remaining medallion, and there was no doubt of what this one was. Silver strands and beams came from every corner of the room, crisscrossing and arching over one another to fill all the space in the room as they came together to meet in the very center, where the jet black medallion sat. It had the effect of looking like a massive, glistening spider web.

"All right!" Steve cried, running towards the medallion. "Let's take these to that fountain and see what we can find!"

"Wait!" Claire shouted, but it was too late. His hand closed around the medallion and pulled it free. The threads it had been attached to broke with a sound like breaking glass. All around, the beams drooped and fell, destroying the web. Then a clanking sound filled the air, ominously familiar.

She turned and ran to the door as it started to fall closed. It was descending at a much faster rate than that with which it had opened. She had just reached it when a groan met her ears.

Previously hidden by the silver web, a zombie was getting to its feet. Another one rose just behind it. The first one grabbed Steve, and she started towards him.

"No, Claire!" he shouted. "Get outside; keep the door open!"

Hesitating for only a second, she realized he was right and ducked into the rapidly shrinking gap, rolling out into the room beyond. She pulled one lever and then the other, but they had no effect. Panicking, she grabbed the bottom of the door and tried to force it up with her strength alone. Its progress slowed, but it continued downward.

"Steve!" she shouted. She hadn't heard any shots from within, and even if he got away from the zombies, the door wouldn't stay open for him for long.

Suddenly, he came sliding through, flat against the ground so as to fit. She pulled her fingers free once he was clear, and the door slammed shut with a resounding _crash._

"That was close," she said, helping him to his feet.

"It's nothing for us," he said nonchalantly, smiling as he handed her the medallion. "Off to the garden?"

She accepted it and took a look. The third medallion, as she had already noticed, was black and made up the final piece of the message—the spider. A black widow spider stood, poised as if to strike. Around it was inscribed: _And with the false Messiah gone, the world was the spider's._

"Another cheery message," she muttered. "Yeah, let's go."

They climbed back up the stairs to emerge at the altar in the center of the labyrinth. The area was still quiet, and they made it out of the hedges without any problems. Heading to the remains of the destroyed garden, they soon found the fountain—slightly crumbled but mostly intact. Three circular spaces were on front, the spots for the medallions.

"I bet the order matters," Claire said. She pulled out the paper she had written the message on. "So the sun destroys the serpent, and then the spider strikes. Does that mean it goes sun, serpent, spider, or serpent, sun, spider?"

"Which is the spider attacking," Steve asked, "the serpent or the sun?"

"Well, I almost want to say that it should be the serpent, because the sun isn't really something you can attack. But the way it's written, it sounds like the serpent has already been killed. Serpent, sun, spider, then?"

"Let's try it."

Claire approached the fountain and inserted the three medallions, in that order. Once all three were in, she took a step back. The serpent medallion shifted back, deep into the marble of the fountain. Then the sun moved back as well, falling beside it. The spider medallion slid to the side, resting in front of the other two. The entire panel the three had been inserted into dropped back and then slide out of the way, revealing a ladder leading down into darkness.

She looked at Steve. "Shall we?"

"Can I go first this time?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, go ahead."

Steve started climbing down the ladder, and she followed after him. Once they had reached the room below, however, she looked around with disappointment. It was a large room, and there was no doubt in her mind that this was the start of a facility of the Organization. Glass chambers sat around the room, filled with some sort of liquid. A couple had cracked and sat empty.

_For cryostasis,_ she thought, noting the resemblance to giant test tubes.

However, it was clear they weren't going to be exploring the rest of the facility. The walls were cracked and crumbled, and in some places the ceiling had caved in entirely, revealing bits of the stone and dirt surrounding them. One entire section of the room was inaccessible, and the only door that wasn't blocked had burst in towards them under the weight of the rubble behind it.

The explosion that had destroyed the manor had done its job on the facility as well. Perhaps that was why it had been done so urgently. She and Steve both checked around the room, but there was no way they could progress.

Claire sighed unhappily, but then something caught her eye. Half buried under a pile of stone and plaster was a leather-bound notebook, as if it had dropped from a careless hand or fallen from its spot as the walls shook and collapsed. She walked over to it and dug it free.

She opened to the first page and found what looked like a set of instructions for entering the building they were in. Flipping through the pages, her excitement grew. It contained information about the Organization, and she found references to its desire to get rid of troublesome members like Umbrella.

_Member, not a rival—that almost guarantees that they're G.P.C._

It wasn't the sort of information that could be used as positive proof, but it could definitely prove useful. She even saw suggestions for making contact with people who wanted to work for the Organization, tests for loyalty, and defenses against spying.

"This is it," she said to Steve, holding it up. "This could change everything."

xXx

Back in Jill's house, they sat in the living room and waited for the others to arrive. She had been very pleased at the sight of the book, and she had said that her own investigation hadn't been as useful as she had hoped. They all wondered what the others had found.

Sheva arrived first, but she was alone. "Leon is still out there," she said. "We finally found a building in the northeast that looks like it might be the hideout of the host of the Control Plaga, but he wanted to investigate further. He sent me back to report so that you wouldn't be worried."

"Can't we worry about Leon, out there without anyone to watch his back?" Jill asked, raising her eyebrows.

"That's what I said," Sheva said, shaking her head, "but he wouldn't listen to me. I think he was planning on looking for Ada once I left, to be honest. He seems so worried about her that I didn't want to press the point."

Speaking of worries, Claire glanced at Steve. He still looked upset and kept glancing around. She wondered if he was going to bring up the ghost. He hadn't said another word about it, as though encountering ghosts was something that happened all the time.

"I wonder where Barry is?" Jill asked. "I hope he got my message."

"I'll go see if he's coming," Steve said. From the look on his face, Claire suspected that he really wanted a breath of fresh air more than anything else.

"I'll be back," Jill said, also getting up. "I left the library in a mess when you arrived, but since we can't get started until Barry and Kirsty get here, I have time to straighten it up."

That just left her and Sheva in the living room.

"I visited Chris on my way here," Sheva said. "He's doing well. Apparently Dr. Jones has been teaching him jokes."

"I'm glad. I went to see him this morning, but he was in a bad mood."

She laughed. "Chris, in a bad mood? He hasn't been in a real bad mood since Jill returned."

Claire smiled. "He's just upset about what happened," she said, remembering what he had been angry about. "He feels like it's his fault that the Organization hasn't been caught yet."

Sheva sighed. "He's probably worried that he can't be here to protect Jill, too. He worries about her in more than one way, you know."

She gave her a questioning look, not sure what she meant.

"He's more concerned about keeping her secret than she is," she said quietly. "Even though we're all a team, he's been almost obsessive about making sure Kirsty doesn't find out that Jill was under Wesker's control."

"I know," Claire said. She smiled. "You have to admit, though, Kirsty…lacks tact."

Steve returned then, ending the conversation. He looked better for having been outside, but he said he hadn't seen Barry. Jill came back after a few minutes, and they talked for a while about the world situation. The governments were in less of a panic and Italy was being rebuilt, but there was little hope of undoing the damage that had been done to the B.S.A.A. Building it up again would take years.

Motion caught Claire's eye from the window, and she looked outside. "Here comes Barry walking down the street," she said, getting up to let him in.

Barry joined them in the living room and at their questioning looks explained that Kirsty wasn't coming. "She went back to the hotel with all the information we gathered. I think she wanted some peace and quiet to sort through it."

"Well," Jill said, looking around at them, "if this is it, then, we may as well start. My meeting with Dr. Morgan went well, although she was attacked later." She grimaced. "She couldn't reveal the identity of her patient to me, so I'm no closer to an answer. She did meet someone with the same symptoms as Horbes, and she felt that he had fallen into a nightmare he never woke up from. That man was with a woman who made her suspicious. It could be helpful, but I don't know how yet."

_Your nightmare is following you_, Claire remembered.

"We searched all over," Sheva said, "looking for a fortress within a forest, like how it was described in that diary entry. We found several possibilities, but the ones we searched yielded no results. We finally found one that really looks likely—it has a golem statue near it. Leon is going to keep looking around for a little bit, but he promised he won't do anything too reckless."

"Excellent," Jill said. "If we find the Control Plaga, we might be able to cripple their army."

"It gets better," Claire said, unable to hold the news back from the others any longer. "This journal we found has a lot of information about the Organization. With this, I think we have a good chance of learning more about them and possibly even infiltrating them. We couldn't look around too much, though, because most of the facility had been destroyed in the blast."

"We also found strange medallions telling a story about a serpent, a sun, and a spider, and then we were attacked by a ghost," Steve added, "but don't worry, I didn't let it hurt us."

Silence greeted his words, and Claire winced. She wanted to say something to support him, but since she hadn't seen the ghost, she couldn't think of anything.

"A ghost?" Jill asked. Her voice had an odd tone to it, as though she was ready to believe him. "What did it look like?"

He described it, going into more detail this time about the gruesome features of the specter. When he was done, she simply nodded, looking more skeptical now.

"Wow," Barry said. "Nightmares, fortresses, and now ghosts; I'm glad we were only dealing with store records! We got a lot of information, trying to trace the explosives that were used on Chris's room. I think we're close to finding the culprit, but we won't know for sure until Kirsty finishes sorting it out. I think that's why she wanted to get started on it right away."

"It looks like we're finally making progress," Jill said.

It had begun to rain, and as they discussed the situation further, Claire looked outside. The dismal weather looked appropriate for stories of the supernatural, but she knew Steve's ghost wasn't just a story. Even if it wasn't real, he thought it was. That possibility worried her more than the idea of an actual ghost. Before that, he had seemed so upset, and he claimed the ghosts were strengthened by his doubts. What did that even mean?

_It's too bad I didn't know about this before Jill went to meet that psychologist. She could have asked her about that sort of…hallucination._

She glanced at Steve. He looked calm enough now. It couldn't have been a real ghost…could it?

"Oh, look at it out there," Barry said, looking out at the rain. "I walked here, too, and I didn't bring an umbrella."

"I can drive you to your house, if you want," Sheva offered, standing up. "I should be returning to the hotel."

"Thanks!"

They said their goodbyes and left. _I hope Leon arrives before Barry goes to sleep_, Claire thought as she heard the engine of Sheva's car, thinking about how he had been kidnapped. Next time, he might not have so lucky an escape.

She was jerked out of her thoughts by a scream from outside. Jumping out of her seat, she ran to the window and was joined by Jill and Steve. She found the source of the scream and felt herself go numb with fear.

Sheva's car was going far too fast, running out of control. She could just barely see them through the window, struggling to stop the vehicle. She turned, intending to run outside and do something—anything—to help, but it was too late. The car had finally been forced to a halt, by the now-splintered trunk of a very wide tree off the side of the road.

The doors didn't open. There was no movement from inside. As she ran to the phone to call for help, she wondered if it had truly been an accident, or if Sheva and Barry were the next victims on the Organization's—or the chessmaster's—list.


	20. Chapter 20: Nightmares

_Note: The full chapter title wouldn't fit, hence the abbreviation in the menu._

* * *

><p>Chapter 20: Nightmares You Never Wake Up From<p>

Jill clutched the edge of her seat so tight that her knuckles turned white. She had been fine when they visited Barry and just starting to feel edgy when they visited Sheva, but now that they had been in Chris's room for a while, she felt like she had been in the hospital for too long that evening. Everything—the doctors and nurses, the equipment, the medicinal and sterile smells lingering all over, the beeping and other possibly sinister noises—reminded her of her time as a test subject. She could still hear the calm voices reporting their findings, not caring that they were experimenting on another human being.

She gripped the seat tighter still. She wasn't going to give in and leave the room. She was getting better; she knew she was. It had taken this long, but she could finally think about Albert Wesker with only slight hesitancy. The vivid flashbacks were almost entirely gone, unless she counted the cloaked figure. The nightmares were persistent, but at least those only bothered her during the night.

She knew she had to overcome this as soon as possible, just in case their enemies had decided to use it against her. They had yet to hear anything from the B.S.A.A. members she had met at the site of the destroyed headquarters, reminding her of her wild fears about a conspiracy. Now she wondered if they really had been imposters, working against her in some strange way.

_Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean there can't really be a conspiracy._

Claire, sitting in the next chair with Steve on her right, was filling Chris in on what had happened to Barry and Sheva, because they had only been able to give him rough details before, that afternoon after rushing them to the hospital. Now that they had regained consciousness, Barry and Sheva had been able to explain what had happened. The car had seemed fine when they started it up, but Sheva had realized it was accelerating faster than it should be. It wouldn't slow down and the brakes refused to work; she pulled the key out of the ignition while struggling for control, and Barry reported that one of the tires had blown out suddenly, spinning them off the road.

The police investigation so far had only confirmed that the car had been tampered with. They had found no fingerprints and were working on finding out if anyone suspicious had been witnessed near the car.

"Well, if there were any doubts before, there aren't any now," Chris sighed. "Someone is trying to wipe us out, and in ways we haven't expected."

_The worst thing is that it's working._ No one had died, but their team of eight was now down to five—she hoped. Leon still hadn't returned, leaving only the four of them there.

"Who will it be next?" Kirsty cried, wringing her hands. She had been pacing ever since they arrived at the hospital, stopping only when they had walked from room to room. "If I hadn't stayed at the hotel, I would have been in that car! _How_ will they attack next?"

She had already repeated for Chris the disappointing news she had revealed to the others: that her work with Barry had come to nothing. The patterns they thought they had seen in the purchasing of explosive ingredients were illusions. The buyers formed a list too huge and disconnected to be an actual lead, unless one supported the theory that the entire town—possibly the entire state—was in on it.

_More conspiracies._

Chris grimaced and indicated the hospital room with a wave of his hand. "I hope I'm out of this soon. It's awful, being stuck here with no way of helping. I keep feeling…I don't know, déjà vu, or something. I just feel like you're all in danger."

"I'll protect Claire with my very life and soul!" Steve said suddenly. He looked as distressed as Jill felt, and she wondered if the hospital was nudging some forgotten memory from his own imprisonment.

"I doubt your soul is in danger," Chris said with a slight smile, "but thank you."

Steve looked down at the floor and mumbled something that was nearly inaudible, but sounded to Jill like, "You don't know what the ghosts to do people."

Claire frowned at him, but no one else seemed to have heard.

Steve's ghosts… That was another problem to consider. Claire hadn't seen the ghost, but Jill wasn't ready to dismiss it as just a figment of his imagination. When he had first brought it up, she had thought of her phantom plague doctor, haunting her from the past. His depiction of a clawed, chained ghoul in a tattered cloak, however, seemed unlikely to be a similar phenomenon. Still, it was as worrying as his thirteen-year memory gap. She wanted to trust him for Claire's sake, but…

_Shadows… Hallucinations… Nightmares you never wake up from…_

"Well, with all we've faced, it's hard to think it could get any worse," Chris said with a slight laugh.

"There you go again," Kirsty muttered.

Jill looked over at her, wondering what she was talking about. The others did the same, and Kirsty flushed.

"What am I doing again?" Chris asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Giving too much credit to the dead." She clenched her hand into a fist. "Your dead enemies are that way for a reason—they had weaknesses that could be exploited! Some may not have such vulnerabilities!" Her moment of vehemence passed, and she looked away with a mumbled, "Of course, you've been at this longer than me."

"We'll do our best," Jill said, giving her an odd look. She was another mystery, with what seemed like a personal vendetta against the Organization.

"We better," Kirsty said, with the ghost of a smile. "After all, if what Steve says is true, more than our lives are at stake."

Claire gave Steve another worried look. "You…don't really think our _souls_ are in danger, do you?"

"Perhaps only our minds," he whispered.

"And that's where the true danger lies," Kirsty said softly, staring at him. "Perhaps your ghosts are the first sign of the attack…and while attacks on the body only have so much power as long as the mind can resist, attacks on the mind are much, much worse…"

_Mind games._

_ Shadows… Hallucinations… Nightmares you never wake up from…_

There had to be an answer somewhere.

xXx

Jill put a stack of papers back inside the folder they had come from and replaced it in its spot in the filing cabinet. That was the last of the files from the Mansion Incident, and nothing there had been helpful. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking for; she was sure it would have stood out if she had seen something about this sort of psychological effect before.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something she had read amongst these files that would provide a tiny, but well-needed clue.

She yawned and looked at the time. It was already eleven o'clock at night, and she knew that continuing at this would only result in her tiredly looking through documents without really reading them. Tidying up the area she had been working at, she turned off the light and left the room.

Claire and Steve were sitting together on the couch, apparently more interested in each other than in the movie playing on the television in front of them. She tried to sneak by so as not to interrupt them, but both of their heads snapped towards her.

She waved. "Good night," she called, heading up the stairs on her own. She had the feeling they wanted to be alone. She felt a sudden pang and wished Chris were out of the hospital. They still hadn't finished the conversation that had begun at the party.

Tired and feeling a little lonely, Jill changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed. She was swept away by sleep almost immediately, an exhausted sleep filled with images of the files in the library. In her dreams, she searched document after document, only to find nothing, until she realized that she was reading the same things over and over again. Then, there were just too many, and she looked out at all of the pages and wondered how she would ever get them read in time. She picked up the first page, but it became ten, and they continued to multiply as she frantically shuffled them…

The dream vanished suddenly to be replaced with reality, and she wondered what had woken her up. She thought perhaps it was Claire, coming in to go to sleep, but then a breath of air brushed by her, as though a breeze had come in through the window—_I know I closed it_—or someone had approached her at speeds far faster than those of any human.

In the second it took that thought to come to her, her eyes snapped open and she sprang up, but a hand clamped down on her face like a vice, slamming her back down. Unable to see or even get a scream out past that hand, she struggled to rise, but the hand holding her down had inhuman strength. She swung out with her arms but failed to even touch her assailant; her heart began pounding with the terror that comes from being helpless.

A cold needle pricked the side of her neck, bringing with it a wave of memories that caused her panic to surge even further. Lashing out with all her strength, her fear-borne adrenaline almost gave her the power to break free, but the needle had already pierced her skin, and even as she struggled to sit up and open her eyes, her muscles gave out and she collapsed down onto the bed.

She had the faint impression of someone pulling away the needle and stroking her hair. Repulsed, she tried to pull away with a body that wouldn't obey her, and then darkness flooded her senses.

xXx

It seemed to her that she floated alone amidst the night. The darkness pulsed around her like a living thing; bursts of light became glowing cracks that glowed and spread as if the darkness were bleeding. Though she wanted to move away, she was immobile.

From the burning, bleeding cracks sprang images of vast landscapes that twisted and turned upon themselves in impossible ways. Things passed her line of sight—beings that shifted and faded when she tried to look at them, translucent ghouls that reached for her with red-dripping claws, people that looked like friends who had somehow been put together wrong.

_This has to be a dream_, she thought in alarm, as something that had her father's face reached towards her with a hooked, disjointed arm, while his features melted and twisted…

Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped in relief. She was immediately alert, however, because something was wrong. She wasn't in her bed. The ceiling she was staring up at was white and metallic, and when the smell of blood reached her, she sat up abruptly. She had been laying on some sort of white table, in the center of this strange, metallic room. She saw the edge of what looked like shackles hanging down from the table, and she suppressed a shudder.

The room was clearly some sort of laboratory. She could see counters with racks of test tubes and other equipment, closed cabinets that undoubtedly hid other sorts of horrors, a computer against the wall—and a chair in the corner, almost entirely concealed by shadows, in which a cloaked figure was sitting.

Jill slowly got to her feet. She knew she was in danger, but she wasn't sure what was going on. She didn't know where she was, she wasn't armed, and she was still wearing her pajamas.

And she was staring right at that phantom image of herself, in its dark cloak and red-eyed mask. The cloaked woman stood up and folded her arms in front of her.

"Who are you?" Jill demanded. "Are you the one responsible for all this?"

The other said nothing.

She glanced around, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Unfortunately, the best idea she got from her surroundings was flinging the rack of test tubes and running. Then again, the cloaked woman so far had made no attempt to stop her.

Jill started to walk to the door, raising her hands in self-defense when her enemy glided towards her. She dodged the cloaked woman's hands, but her own punch went through only air. Her opponent had gotten behind her, and Jill spun around, feinting a punch in one direction while raising her leg for a high kick.

Knocked off balance, the other woman recovered alarmingly quickly and kneed her in the stomach. Jill exhaled sharply as the blow came to prevent the wind being knocked from her, and then she darted forward to ram her enemy in the chest. The woman leaped to the side and gave her a push.

Jill crashed into the countertop, and the vials fell to the floor. Shielding herself from the flying glass, she jumped up, grabbing her opponent by the arm. For a few seconds they grappled together, neither having an advantage in these close quarters. Then she let go with one hand, swinging her arm up in a punch that was meant to be a glancing blow—meant to only knock away the mask. The black mask fell to the ground, and Jill cried out in alarm when she looked up into her opponent's face.

For there was no face there at all.

The empty black void glared at her, and as the cloaked figure swooped forward, Jill felt a mysterious weakness come over her, sapping her strength. She fell to the ground, and the darkness beneath the hood came with her, enveloping and consuming her as she realized she was now clad in that cloak.

_I am you_, a hollow voice seemed to whisper, as the world faded from view.

xXx

She was still wearing the cloak, and she was lying on the ground. Those were the first things she noticed when she opened her eyes. She became aware of a terrible pain in her leg and realized that she couldn't move it at all. The sky was dark and the ground was cold, but when she looked up, she couldn't tell where she was.

Chris was right in front of her, holding a gun.

"Chris?" she asked, not liking the fact that the gun barrel was pointed at her. "Chris?" she asked a little louder, when he didn't look at her.

Slowly, turning his head with great reluctance, he met her gaze. In his eyes, she saw fear and pain that she was sure must be reflected in her own.

_What's going on?_

"I know what you did," he said in a hoarse voice.

_What I did?_

_ Wake up._

"We've tried everything!" he cried, sounding anguished. "Nothing works; there's no cure…"

_No cure?_ She tried to ask him what he was talking about, but her voice didn't obey her.

"If only you had stayed… If only you hadn't kept escaping…"

_Escaping?_ Her stomach churned uneasily. Now she wanted to get away, but she still couldn't move her leg. She could drag herself across the ground, but that wouldn't be any good against Chris. _But why would I be afraid of Chris?_ Yet she couldn't help it; she _was_ afraid.

_Wake up,_ the voice urged again, and she felt an irrational need to ignore it, feeling panicked assurance that it was better to stay here, where Chris was pointing a gun at her, than to leave and follow that whispering command.

"They called me," he whispered, taking a shuddering breath; with a jolt she realized that he was blinking rapidly, as if to force away tears, "because I said I wanted to see you one last time…before…"

"Before what?" she asked, her voice working again at last, although it sounded shrill even to her own ears. "Chris? Before _what_?"

The silence seemed to drag on for too long, and then he reached up with one hand to roughly wipe away tears he was no longer holding back, as he said, "They want to know how this thing works, but I won't let them hurt you, Jill!"

_See? Chris will help me,_ she thought, but her body ignored the cue to relax, continuing with its rapid heartbeat and shaky breaths. She didn't like the fact that he was still pointing that gun at her. His hand was tightening around it, as if…

"Chris!" she shouted desperately, not understanding, feeling tears of fear and betrayal coming to her eyes.

"I don't want to do this, Jill!" he shouted, falling to his knees in front of her. He let out an anguished cry. "But if I don't, they'll take you apart, piece by piece, in order to find out how he controlled you again!"

_How…what?_ Her blood ran hot and then cold with horror, and Chris was kneeling in front her still, taking aim again. His whole body was shaking as he sobbed, and she realized that he was going to do it, he really was going to do it.

"I love you, Jill! I'm so sorry!" he cried, and then she squeezed her eyes closed as he pulled the trigger.

_Wake up!_

xXx

Jill opened her eyes in the strangely metallic laboratory again, but she felt dizzy and knew something was wrong. The smell of blood was stronger, and there was a terrible pain in her chest.

She looked down and saw that she was somehow wearing that old battle suit that Wesker had put her in. The front was still open, revealing the scar where the device had once been—except it no longer was a scar. It was an open wound, bleeding in several spot, and as she tried to clean herself up, it seemed to her that she only made more blood come out.

"Wake up!"

The voice was louder now, sounding familiar and annoyed, and somehow close by, as if the speaker was standing right behind her. She tried to turn her head to see, but there was so much blood everywhere—_everywhere, how did it get everywhere?_—and her vision blurred when she moved her head. She gasped in pain and then collapsed, passing out even as she tried again to stop the blood loss…

When she opened her eyes again, she was still in the laboratory but was no longer bleeding. The scar looked normal again, but she didn't let her guard down. That was at least twice she had woken up now, thinking the nightmare was over only to find out that she was still in it. That was the terror intrinsic to dreams within dreams, because even after the most innocent of ones, you still weren't sure you had awoken.

Jill sat up, hating the feeling of lying down on that table.

"Well, it's good to see you've deigned to return to the world of the waking." The tone was mocking and the voice familiar enough to chill her to the bone.

She got to her feet unsteadily and turned to face the man who had haunted her nightmares for the past two years—Albert Wesker. Tall and blond, he was wearing all black, although not the trench coat he had sometimes favored in the past. Standing there in that small room, he gave the impression of being supremely powerful and in control, an impression strengthened by the confident sneer on his face.

Even though she had recognized his voice, seeing him standing there still caused her to jump back in alarm. It simply was impossible, and yet there he stood.

_I must be dreaming_.

"You aren't dreaming."

She jumped and then narrowed her eyes at him. He couldn't read minds; he was just trying to throw her off balance with a good guess. "All right," she said, trying to sound calm in spite of her instincts screaming at her to run, or at least flail desperately in panic, "how did I get here? Tell me what's going on."

Wesker arched one eyebrow. "Miss Valentine, you are unarmed, disoriented, and really in no condition to fight me. Are you really in a position to be making demands?"

"It was a request," she said, through gritted teeth.

"I would suggest you try to sound more polite."

_I'm standing here having an argument with a nightmare._ The thought was sudden and seemed ridiculous, but she seized it, as it relieved her anxiety. This had to be a nightmare, after all. Even Wesker couldn't have survived his final death in Kijuju. She had once read that if you knew you were dreaming, you could wake up. It had never worked during her most traumatic nightmares, but she had always thought they were real while they were happening.

"I'm not going to argue with you," she said, even though her common sense argued that she shouldn't even talk to her nightmare. It was a bit like chasing hallucinations down hallways. She spun around and walked towards the door.

Wesker's hand closed around her arm and pulled her back, gripping her with such force that she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. She thought that pain like that should have woken her up, so perhaps this was only half a nightmare.

_Half a nightmare? What the devil does that mean?_

Forcing herself to think rationally, she realized that she would have to accept this as reality for the time being, just in case. She felt remarkably calm under the circumstances, and she thanked whatever forces might be listening that she had worked so hard on facing her memories. Just a few weeks ago, this situation might have torn her to pieces already. Of course, so far Wesker hadn't done anything much more alarming than stand there alive.

She realized that his grip had relaxed, and she pulled her arm away from him. She thought back to when she had last been sure she was awake, and she remembered the needle and the nightmares that had followed. "What did you do to me?" she demanded.

He shook his head in a way that would have been pitying if not for the glint of cold amusement in his eyes. "So quick to cast blame on me," he sighed.

"What do you mean?"

"The mind does strange things to try to protect itself. It is not _my_ fault that you have been trapped in a world of your own making for these past two years, and it is not my fault that your personal reality began to unravel until your mind couldn't handle it anymore."

_Personal reality?_ Granted, there had been a lot of strange things happening, but she certainly wouldn't say reality had been unraveling. It sounded as though he were saying that nothing that had happened over the past two years had been real. She took a step away from him. That had been one of her worst fears—that she would wake up and discover that she had only dreamed being freed from him. _This has to be a nightmare._

"Do you want to know what _really_ happened on that day?" Wesker whispered.

_No. No I don't._

"There is no need for me to tell you. It is right here." He reached towards her, and she recoiled before he could touch her head. "You have the memories, and if you try, you should be able to reach past those blocks you set up."

She didn't want to try. She didn't want to think that everything she had known for the past two years could have been an illusion. There was no way this could be really happening, and she knew that at any moment she would wake up, safely in her own bed. This was just another nightmare. Even if she did think back to that day in Africa, the only doubts she would find would be the ones he had just planted. There couldn't be a different set of memories that would lead to his words being true. Even if she did think back to that day…

xXx

The helicopter flew away from the volcano, taking them out of danger at last. Jill let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, feeling dizzy from relief. She hardly dared to believe they were safe.

"It's over," Chris said.

Sheva looked at him. "Yes."

Jill looked at Chris and then over at Sheva. "Finally," she said, not knowing how to put her feelings into words.

Josh glanced back at them—and then the helicopter shook and jerked in the air. Jill looked outside and saw only fire and smoke. She fell forward out of her seat as another explosion rocked the helicopter.

"Surface-to-air missiles!" Josh shouted, turning back to the controls with a note of horror in his voice.

"Were they _waiting_ for us?" Chris asked disbelievingly.

Another missile struck, sending the helicopter spinning.

"Josh, get us out of their range!" Sheva cried.

"I'm trying!" he shouted back. "They've locked onto us!"

_This can't be happening. It was over! _

The next missile hit hard, sending them careening downwards. Josh was trying frantically to keep them in the air, but the machinery had failed and no amount of human effort would bring it back. Sheva was doing something, trying to lower the ladder, it looked like. If they stayed in the helicopter, they would go up in flames with it.

Jill still felt weak and unsteady. She wasn't sure she could manage climbing down that ladder as the helicopter plummeted. A hand grabbed hers, and she looked up and saw Chris.

"I'll help you," he whispered. "Don't worry about a thing. We'll get out of this."

Sheva began the descent, and Chris and Jill followed, going slowly because they were together. Josh was the last to start climbing down. As dangerous as it was for all of them to be struggling down at once, the crash was imminent and they couldn't afford to waste time.

Jill descended slowly and carefully as the wind whipped around her face, fearing at several times that she might fall. At those times, Chris was there to steady her, and then they continued on.

It seemed for a second that she saw the missile that struck, and then there was only chaos as the ladder snapped free from the doomed craft and hurtled towards the earth. The ground rushed up to meet her, and she hit with such force that she was sure every bone in her body was broken.

She could hear shouting. The Majini that had been operating the missiles were now arriving, no doubt to kill them if they were still alive. She struggled to her feet, crying out as a stabbing pain ran through her leg. She looked around to see what had happened to the others. She located Josh, lying on the ground just a few feet away, and stumbled towards him just as one of the Majini stabbed him.

Someone screamed; it might have been her. She could hear Sheva shouting Josh's name now, having seen what had happened… She seemed distant and faint… And she could hear Chris shouting as well, saying that they had to move…

xXx

They stood outside of the cave they had been using as a hideout for the past few hours, now battling for their lives. Their enemies had found them. Were they all Majini? It was hard to say. It seemed, as isolated as they were, as if every person in the world had shown up to murder them.

Chris and Sheva were fighting back to back. Jill was a distance behind them with a rifle, trying to pick off the more dangerous enemies. She was crouched on the ground, having been more injured than them during the landing. Even with the three of them working together, it wasn't looking good. They were running low on ammo and becoming exhausted.

Sheva's cry of alarm turned into a piercing scream, as a gigantic man wielding an axe struck a lucky blow and sliced her in two. As blood sprayed, Jill shot at her murderer frantically, even as Chris turned to face him. The Majini fell, though the rest of the mob was fast approaching.

At last, one of the fallen enemies revealed something sorely needed—a box of ammo fell from his pocket as he collapsed upon the ground. Chris grabbed it and opened it, but then he cursed and snatched his hand away.

"What is it?" Jill asked.

"A blade concealed in the box," he muttered, turning to face his enemies even though blood was streaming from his hand. However, they had all begun to back away.

Jill watched the strange retreat, wondering if even the Majini had gotten tired of losing men to enemies who were so obviously defeated. Yet, their exhaustion had to be that apparent, and she would have thought it was time to finish the job. They didn't go far—they were still laying siege to the hideout.

"I don't know why they're stopping," Chris said, "but I'll take advantage of it."

She got up with slight difficulty, and then they walked back into the cave.

xXx

Chris shuddered and gasped, wracked with some sort of fever. Occasionally he grabbed at his bandaged hand convulsively, as if it pained him. It had only been an hour since he had cut his hand, and both of them were now thinking that the Majini's retreat had been due to their knowledge that this would happen.

"Don't worry," Jill said, stroking his hair and wishing she could do more to help. "You're strong; you'll make it through this."

Inwardly, though, she was worried. They had tried all of the medicinal products they had with them, but nothing had helped. Nothing had even given him slight relief. If anything, he had grown worse.

"Jill," he whispered, reaching out towards her with a shaking hand. She caught it and held it gently. "I'm glad…I found you again."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm glad, too. Everything's going to be all right."

If the Majini burst in now, she'd have to fight them alone. He'd be helpless in his current state. She'd do whatever it took. If they tried to harm Chris, they'd have to go over her dead body.

"Jill…" Chris coughed, body shaking violently, and she looked at him with alarm. That hadn't been happening before. He took his hand away from his mouth and quickly moved it to his side, but not before she had seen the fresh blood on it. Her stomach clenched. This was bad, very bad. "I feel…like something's…"

He trailed off, pulling away from her and rolling over onto his side. He clutched his stomach as he coughed, and this time there was no way to hide the blood coming up. He shuddered horribly, letting out a groan, and Jill hung back, afraid that touching him might bring him more pain.

"Where…are you?" he mumbled, and she put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. It seemed to calm his shivers somewhat.

"I'm right here," she whispered.

"Don't leave me," he forced out after another series of violent coughs.

"I won't," she promised, wondering why he would even fear such a thing. It was agonizing to see him like this, but it would be far, far worse to abandon him. She kept her hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him of her presence.

_He's dying, isn't he?_ a tiny, frightened part of her dared to ask.

_He can't be. Not Chris. Please, not Chris!_

He struggled to turn, to lie on his back again, and she gently helped him. He looked even worse now, with pain in his eyes, flecks of blood around his mouth, and beads of sweat forming all over his skin.

Or was that sweat?

She reached out and touched his bare arm, and her hand came away streaked black. Some sort of dark mucus was oozing out of his pores, and she stood up involuntarily as the slimy substance began appearing in greater volume. Chris lifted a shaking hand to wipe his face and stared at the gunk with horror.

"What is it?" he whispered. "What's happening to me?"

"I don't know," she answered, looking on with horror as his skin began to writhe and burst open, mixing splashes of blood into the mucus. Creeping black tendrils emerged, clinging to his body in some spots and splaying out unnaturally in others. It looked like some mad cousin virus of Uroboros.

"Jill!" he choked through a horribly wet, racking cough. He stretched out a twitching, tendril-entwined hand. "Don't leave me!"

She realized that she had begun to back up, flinching away as the viral matter touched her skin. She took a hesitant step towards him, reminding herself over and over that this was Chris, and he needed her. Kneeling beside him again, she put her hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the feeling of the twisting mass.

"I'm here, Chris," she whispered. "It's okay."

"I'm becoming…a monster…"

"No, Chris," she said softly. She put her other hand on him, trying to hold him even as he shuddered and shook with pain. "You could never be a monster. It's okay. You can overcome this."

His face twitched as though he was trying to smile, but he couldn't manage it. She felt tears rising up inside of her, and she let them go, crying onto his shoulder. This close, she could hear how he was struggling to breathe.

Jill wrapped her arms around him tighter and buried her head against his chest, heedless of the monstrous _things_ that were engulfing him more and more. It didn't matter; it was Chris. He needed her. He needed her to be close to him. She found herself whispering over and over that it would be okay, although she wasn't sure which of them she was trying to console. She held him even tighter, clinging to him as though she might be able to hold his spirit there by force.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, as he cried out in pain and she felt a huge sob welling up inside of her. "Hang on, Chris, _please._"

But beneath her, his body shuddered and went still. After a few seconds, even the viral tendrils stopped moving. Numb with the horrible realization that he was dead—and yet he couldn't be, not Chris, he just _couldn't _be—she slipped into unconsciousness and prayed that the Majini would kill her.

xXx

She came back to herself in the laboratory, shaking from the trauma of the memory that had been forced upon her. But it couldn't be a memory. That couldn't be how it had happened.

"I _hate _you!" she snarled at Wesker, turning away from him and refusing to even look at the monster who had ruined their lives.

She heard him walk up behind her and she tried to move, but his hands fell upon her shoulders and held her in place. "You hate me?" he asked mildly. "What did I do to you? After all, you are still alive."

He spun her around to look at him, and she took the opportunity to spit in his face. He stared at her, with a very calm, cold expression, and she could feel her heart pounding.

_I'm going to pay for that._

Wesker moved more quickly than her eyes could follow, slamming her against the laboratory wall with so much force that she was afraid some of her bones might have cracked. Once again she bit her lip against crying out; he was going to have to try a lot harder before she gave him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

"You don't hate me," he sneered. "You hate what happened, and since you can't shout at fate, you take it out on me."

He released her, and she crumpled down the wall. She slowly stood, breathing heavily, as he turned and walked a few feet away.

"I don't believe any of that happened!" she shouted, once she had the breath.

"You're right."

She froze, not sure what she had just heard. "What?"

"I said, 'you're right.'" Wesker turned back to her and shrugged. "It was a joke."

She stared at him, hating him more than she had ever thought she could hate anyone. "_That_ was a joke? What is _wrong_ with you?"

Wesker raised his eyebrows, and a slight smirk appeared on his face. "Really, we should be asking what is wrong with _you_…after all, I merely gave you the suggestion that things had not turned out well. It was your mind that filled in the details. Tell me, how did it work out?"

Jill turned away from him, feeling dizzy and dazed. Now her perception of reality was really up in the air. Her best bet was to assume that this all was one massive nightmare. She hoped someone would wake her up soon. She couldn't stand much more of this.

_Nightmares you never wake up from…_

"Come with me," Wesker said, opening the laboratory door and walking out into a hallway.

She had no intention of going anywhere with him, even if it meant staying behind in the laboratory alone, but to her horror, she found herself walking after him. _Impossible!_ she thought, trying to stop. If he had some sort of control over her, he certainly hadn't been using it a minute ago.

_Just when I thought things couldn't get worse_, she thought numbly, as her body stubbornly disobeyed her. _Maybe his control is weak—oh God, he can't have control of me again—and maybe I can fight back._

She began focusing all of her energy on stopping, concentrating on it as hard as she could. _Stop…walking…_ Her body shouldn't obey anyone but her. _This can't be happening._ She wanted to stop. Her brain was trying desperately to send the commands, but her legs kept going anyway. _Not again, no, no, no!_

She stumbled into a wall, having managed to trip herself up. Far ahead, Wesker turned around to see what was going on. He raised his eyebrows and let out an exasperated sigh.

"This isn't exactly a picnic for me either!" she shouted, as her body started marching towards him again.

"Really, Miss Valentine, as you'd normally be sleeping at this time, I think my time is considerably more valuable than yours right now."

She tried to think of a horrible enough word to describe what he was, but she couldn't, so she settled for asking, "Where are you taking me, anyway?"

"I am not _taking_ you anywhere. We are calmly walking together—" She snorted, and he ignored her. "—through the corridors of my laboratory, so that we can get outside, where we will head to the house of a villager who has been causing me significant trouble. Then, you are going to kill him and his family."

He said it so calmly that it took a minute for her to realize what he had said. "I will not!"

"Yes you will," he sighed.

She wished he would give her control back, if only for a moment, so that she could do her best to claw his eyes out.

"You know, it really was a stroke of luck," he said, almost conversationally, as he opened a door at the end of the hall and led her outside into the cool night air. "I never suspected that the drug would linger in your system the way it did. You are a wonderful anomaly, Miss Valentine."

She tried to tell him that she hated him, but her mouth remained closed. She hoped he could feel the hatred radiating from her. They walked together down the street, as she tried to piece together from her surroundings where they were. She couldn't tell, however, as it just seemed to be a lonely road in the middle of nowhere.

They passed people, and Wesker greeted them with a smile. Though she wanted to plead for help, her face smiled and her voice also greeted the people.

_I hate you, Wesker. You should have stayed dead._

"These people are strong," he commented, once they were past. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if they were among the chosen."

_The chosen? But we destroyed Uroboros. We wiped it out._ But her mouth refused to open so she could explain that to him. If he had any inkling of her confusion, he didn't care.

They came to a stop, and she realized with horror that they had reached a small house. He was going to make her go in there and murder people. He had control again. _No, no, no!_ She knew from the past that she would do it, regardless of what she wanted. It was as if her will no longer existed._ This can't be happening!_

"By the way," Wesker said, handing her a sharp knife as she stepped past him towards the door, "when you're done here, you will return to your home. Perhaps you'll even remember, this time. Poor Miss Valentine…and you did such a good job of blocking out the other attacks."

_Other attacks? What other attacks?_ Her mind screamed with the need to ask him, but she had no chance. He was walking away, and she was knocking on the door.

The man who answered never knew what hit him. The blade was raised, slicing his throat and spraying her with blood almost immediately after the door opened. He fell to the ground, lifeless, and she stepped over the corpse into the house.

_No! Stop it, stop it, stop it!_

_ I know what you did._

His wife and children were more difficult. They tried to run. The woman tripped, forgetting to watch where she was going in her terror, and then the knife was in her back, stopping her forever. It came out smoothly, and the second body fell to the ground.

_I have to wake up; this has to be a nightmare; wake up, Jill!_

_ We've tried everything! Nothing works; there's no cure…_

The little girl raced towards the door, intent on escaping the house and running to a place where she could find the safety of other people. She was fast. Unfortunately for her, Jill was faster. The blade struck; the girl fell.

_Wake up, wake up, wake up! Please!_

_ They'll take you apart, piece by piece…_

The little boy was still, frozen with fear. He had watched the others fall in front of his eyes. He had to know that he was next. Yet he barely moved a muscle as she approached, released only a whispered, "Please…" before the blade flashed and he joined the others on the floor.

_No, this can't be real! No!_

Her hands were slippery with blood, and the blade slipped from her grasp. She would have to retrieve it; she couldn't leave evidence behind. _Yes, leave evidence behind; I'll leave all the evidence behind that I can! Even if they kill me; even if Chris has to kill me!_

_I love you, Jill! I'm so sorry!_

Their innocent blood was dripping from her hands, and the gun fired in her memory.

xXx

Jill woke up with a start, sitting straight up and looking around in terror only to see that she was back in her room. She was in her own bed, wearing her own pajamas. The moonlight was shining in through the window, and she could hear the sound of Claire breathing deeply in sleep.

She realized with a sense of amazed relief that it had just been a nightmare after all. All of it had been one massive, interconnected series of nightmares.

She lifted her hand to push her sweat-soaked hair out of her face, and then she froze. For a second, her heart stopped beating. Then Jill let out a horrified scream, for in the silver moonlight, she could see that _her hands were still covered in blood._


	21. Chapter 21: Fear

Chapter 21: Fear

"This movie doesn't make any sense," Steve commented, staring at the television screen with a bored look on his face. He folded his arms. He was wearing that borrowed set of Chris's pajamas again, and the sleeves flapped around his arms whenever he moved. He pointed to the character on the screen, a tall man wearing shiny clothes intended to look futuristic and lounging in a throne in a colosseum. "Why is the totalitarian god-king of the world giving out autographs at a tennis tournament? Why does he teach a high school class? Why does he hold meetings in the parking lot?"

"It's a romantic comedy, Steve," Claire said, raising her eyebrows at him. She was wearing her pajamas as well, and was happy to be able to say that they were both better fitting than his and probably more modest than he would have hoped for. "You've got to suspend your disbelief a little bit…or a lot, in this case."

He rolled his eyes and shifted impatiently in his seat, a move that brought him an inch closer to her on the couch. He had been doing that at regular intervals since the movie had started at ten o'clock, taking him from being a few feet away from her to so close that their legs were touching.

"You know, you're not being as subtle as you think," she commented.

"You didn't move," he countered.

"I didn't want to move," she said, throwing a smile in his direction.

His face turned as red as his hair, which surprised her since he had always been the one trying to flirt with her. With the two of them alone at night, she had expected him to redouble his efforts. Now that she had begun to open up to his attention, however, he seemed almost reluctant to continue. Either he was afraid he would lose what little ground he had gained, or it was more of those persistent worries of his.

_Of course, after thirteen years, I've found this a bit awkward myself._

Claire leaned towards him, letting her head fall against his shoulder. They had agreed to see if a relationship could still work out, after all. She had never guessed she would have to start flirting with him.

"Claire," Steve said softly after a few moments, "do you remember what I said about the dreams I had after…my death?"

She glanced up at him. Although looking up from an odd angle, she could tell that his face was serious. He was looking in the direction of the television, but she doubted he was seeing the movie at all. "The part where you dreamed about me?" she asked, feeling embarrassed.

"The part where I was sure that everything would be all right if I found you." He turned suddenly, causing her to lose balance from having been leaning against him. He caught her, and held her there for a moment.

Her breath caught at the intensity in his eyes. For a moment, she felt sure he was going to do something—anything from running away to kissing her—but then he helped her back into a sitting position and the fire faded from his eyes.

"I remember," she said.

He nodded and shifted around in his seat—genuine shifting this time, as though he was unsure of how to voice his thoughts. Finally, he said, "Claire, you must think I'm nuts, with all the things I've been worrying about, but those thirteen years I can't remember scare me to death."

She reached over and put her hand over his. "I understand." Being unable to remember thirteen years after being taken into custody by Wesker's military force; that would terrify anyone. She wondered if he was finally getting to the root of his worries.

He took a deep breath. "So, because of that, I have to know…you said you'd stand by me even if the virus showed itself. But... I... What if something _bad_ happened? Would you help me, Claire?"

"Of course," she said, surprised. She frowned at him. "Why wouldn't I?"

He looked away, mumbling, "I don't think your brother would."

"What? Chris may seem a little paranoid nowadays, but of course he'd help you!"

"What if he thought I was a danger to you? What if he thought…it would be better if I were dead?" He shuddered.

Alarmed at the turn the conversation had taken, Claire put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. She had never dreamed he was worrying about something like that. "Steve, that won't happen. Even if something goes wrong—with the T-Veronica virus, or the ghosts, or anything else—we'll find a way to help. No one is going to kill you, I promise."

He stared at her for a moment longer, and then he relaxed, settling back against the couch. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

"And I don't think you're nuts," she added with a smile.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. "Thanks, Claire." He looked over at her. "Now that that's out of the way…what was that you were saying about not wanting to move away from me?"

She laughed as he moved even closer, lifting her hands in mock self-defense. "Hey, now you're in my personal space. There isn't enough room over here for both of us!"

"I think there is," he said, slowing sliding one arm around her shoulders.

Feeling a little dizzy, she noticed that he had now gone from being very close to extremely close, but he was right about one thing. She still didn't feel like moving away. _Thirteen years worth of dreams…_ She looked at him, drinking in the image of his face, his half-closed eyes, the mischievous smile on his face—the figure trying to sneak through the room unseen…

Her head snapped around, and she felt her face heating up as she saw Jill. Steve looked too, and she felt his arm twitch as though he wasn't sure if he should move it or not.

Jill didn't comment, however, and with a simple goodnight wish, she went upstairs and left them alone again.

"If that was your brother, I'd be dead right now," Steve muttered.

Claire smacked his arm lightly. "Oh, stop that. It's not like we were doing anything."

He raised his eyebrows and started to move closer to her again. She glanced towards the stairs, making sure that Jill really had left and wasn't coming back for anything. _Thirteen years of waiting…_ She leaned in towards Steve, closing her eyes, and then their lips touched.

After a moment, he pulled away from her, reaching up with one warm hand to stroke her cheek. "That was nice," he said softly, staring into her eyes.

"Mmhmm," she agreed, leaning towards him for a second kiss. His arms wrapped around her, strong and warm, easily felt through the thin material of her pajamas.

She was just starting to think that she really ought to get closer to him if this was going to continue—sitting on his lap sounded nice, but she wasn't going to be picky—when the loud noise of someone hammering on the door startled her into jumping away.

"Oh for—who could that be at this time of the night?" she asked, getting up. She looked out the window and saw a familiar set of braids whipping around in the night wind. "It's Kirsty."

"Quick, pretend we're asleep and didn't hear!" Steve suggested, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of sight of the window.

Claire swatted him playfully. "Steve!"

"What?" He looked up at the clock. "It's past eleven at night! This is no time for people to be visiting!"

"You're just mad because she interrupted us," she said. The knocking started up again, and she started running for the door. "It could be something important!"

She threw open the door when she reached it and let Kirsty in, locking it behind her once she had entered. Other than her wind-tossed hair, the woman looked as collected as she ever did, strange for someone showing up in the middle of the night.

"What's up?" she asked, as they walked towards the living room.

"Well, I keep worrying that since I'm the only one in the hotel, they're going to get me next." She stopped and started rocking back on forth on her feet. "I thought I'd work on catching the Organization!"

From across the room, Steve caught Claire's eye and mouthed, "Why is she here?"

"Okay," Claire said, not wanting to put it as bluntly as that. "So…"

"So, I came here to ask if I could use Jill's library! She said that she has all the files in there and everything!" She blinked, suddenly deflating somewhat. "Um… It's not a problem, is it?"

Claire gaped at her, not quite sure what to do. "Do you realize what time it is?"

"Do you realize we might have been busy?" Steve called.

She wished he was close enough to kick and settled for glaring at him instead. He gave her an impudent smile in return. He had a point, though. At this time, they could have all been asleep, and any normal person should have realized that.

_Then again, this is the person who wanted to borrow all of Barry's videos._

"Fine," she sighed, relenting. "We'll probably be up for a while yet, so you can stay until then. I'll show you where the library is."

"Oh, thank you!" Kirsty cried, practically bouncing as she followed her to the dining room and the library it was connected to. "With all she's been doing—meeting with that psychiatrist and everything—I think she's really, really close to finding something out! With another mind working through those files, we'll find an answer in no time! Why, we could be breaking up the Organization tomorrow!"

She was an optimist, Claire had to grant her that. For all her worries about not being accepted by them and her fears of being attacked, she certainly managed to see the bright side of everything else. Once in the library, Kirsty calmed down and began to peruse the shelves and filing cabinets.

"Good luck," Claire called to her, returning to Steve. Fortunately, the positioning of the rooms meant that the living room couldn't be seen from the library's doorway. She'd have to make it all the way through the dining room to get back to them, and that would most likely give them enough warning to move apart if necessary.

He shook his head as she sat down on the couch beside him and moved to snuggle against him again. "That woman is _weird._"

"Oh, Steve," she said with a laugh, "that's not very nice."

"But it's true! Having her support about the ghosts being dangerous wasn't exactly comforting, if you know what I mean. First sign of an attack on the mind…attacks on the mind being worse than attacks on the body… Thank you for those reassuring words…I think the filter between her brain and mouth is broken!"

Claire elbowed him, trying hard not to laugh. "Well, seeing ghosts is worrying," she admitted.

"You don't have to tell _me_ that," he said, "but I can handle it. I promised I'd protect you, remember?"

She sighed. "Yes, I remember."

"I mean it. Whatever it takes, I'll—" He cut off sharply, jumping off of the couch. "What the—did you see that?"

She got up as well. He was looking out the window, but when she tried to follow his gaze, she didn't see anything. "What is it?" she asked. Her heart was pounding, and she wondered if it was more of his ghosts. "Steve, what is it?"

His hands were shaking slightly as he continued to stare outside. "Someone… I saw someone there, staring at the house! When I tried to see who it was, they ran out of sight."

A chill ran down her spine. "Are you sure?"

He turned towards her, staring at her like she was insane and looking like he might burst into tears. "Am I sure? How could I mistake something like that? I have a bad feeling about this, Claire!"

His words were coming too fast as he spoke, and she hurried over to the drawer where they had stashed their weapons for the evening. He seemed more upset than he was letting on, making her wonder just what it was about the person he had seen that had startled him so badly.

"Let's go see if they're still around," she said, grabbing her gun.

He hefted his machine gun and nodded, following her outside at a run. She wondered if they should have alerted the others first, but she decided there wasn't enough time to go back. Besides, Jill and Kirsty had to be safer inside the house. She couldn't see anyone around in front of the house, and she took a few steps down the path.

"We better split up," Steve said. "You go that way and check around the back; I'll take a look around here and on the other side."

She nodded. "All right."

Creeping around the side of the house as quietly as she could, she held her gun ready and kept alert for anything. A threat could come from any side—especially since she could just imagine Jill waking up, seeing people sneaking around outside, and not realizing they were her own allies. Her heart was pounding.

_Is this the next attack?_

However, she saw nothing as she made her way to the back of the house, and even there, she could find nothing amiss amidst the shadows and bushes. She startled a rabbit that had been crouched in the grass, but that was the only living thing she saw. If Steve's prowler had come this way, he or she had already gotten away.

She turned back, wondering if he had had any more luck on his side. She didn't like the idea of someone staring up at the house for no good reason and then escaping, although she knew there were several possibilities. It could have been someone who was lost, trying to read the address on the mailbox. It could have been someone out for an innocent stroll, just taking a short break. It could have been a trick of the light, or a phantom as mysterious as the one that had chased the two of them before.

When she reached the front of the house again, she found Steve waiting for her, along with Kirsty, to her surprise. Steve looked very anxious as she approached them.

"You're all right!" Kirsty cried, wringing her hands as Claire joined them. "Oh, I was worried! I heard the two of you running around…and then when Steve found me here and told me what had happened…"

Steve gave her an odd look, a puzzled expression that looked somewhere between a smile and a frown. "I… Yeah… Well, I didn't see anyone around, so maybe it was nothing."

"I didn't see anything either," Claire said.

He sighed. "Now that I think about it, I guess it was just my imagination. I'm sorry for scaring you."

"It's all right," she said, although her heart was still pounding. "We're all a little paranoid."

Kirsty still looked agitated. "You know, on second thought, I think I'm going back to the hotel. There was less excitement there."

"Will you be all right going back on your own?" Claire asked.

"Oh, yes!" She smiled brightly and started off down the sidewalk, letting out a shriek and nearly falling when a car drove by. She turned back and waved, apparently to let them know that she was all right.

Claire turned towards Steve, expecting him to make a comment, but he was just staring out at nothing, looking troubled. "What is it?"

"Huh?" He jumped, and then managed a smile. "Oh, nothing. I just keep wondering if we're ever going to get to spend time together tonight without being interrupted."

She raised her eyebrows. If he was back to thinking about that, apparently he was pretty well convinced that he hadn't really seen anyone standing outside. "Well, let's go back in then," she said, rolling her eyes and feeling relieved.

He smiled, glancing past her into the night only once before looking back at her. "I was hoping you'd say that."

xXx

The time ticked away, and soon they were curled up together on the couch, watching the finish of the bad movie. Claire was convinced they had somehow stumbled onto a channel that showed things that no other channel would accept. This had the unintentional benefit that the romantic comedy _was_ funny, but probably not for all the reasons the writers would have hoped.

As they laughed as the people on the screen spoke to each other in hushed, melodramatic tones about their complicated love lives—through a wooden door, as the god-king had locked himself in a bathroom and refused to come out—Claire glanced up at Steve from where her head was nestled against his chest. He seemed a lot more relaxed than he had earlier that evening. Thoughts of viruses, ghosts, and prowlers had vanished entirely over the past hour.

They had spoken about dreams of a happier future, cuddled and kissed, and generally worked to break down the barriers that the awkwardness of their situation had built up between them, until they soon were giggling together at the horrible plot and implausible character development.

Steve looked down and met her gaze with a smile. "You know, it's times like this when I feel like everything's going to be all right."

"I know what you mean. Even with all that's happened…I feel so far removed from it right now. I sometimes wonder if that's what our enemies are missing," she said thoughtfully. "They can't seem to be happy with the simple things in life."

She felt a shiver run through Steve, and she started to ask him what was wrong. Before she got more than a few of the words out, however, a bloodcurdling scream rang out from upstairs.

_Jill!_

Claire was on her feet and running before the thought had fully formed, with Steve right behind her. Everything flashed through her mind—the attacks, Kirsty's belief that Jill was coming close to the truth, the mysterious stranger outside—as she charged up the stairs towards the sound of the continuing screams.

She ran into Jill's room and switched on the light, heart pounding, and saw that she wasn't being attacked by any external source. She was thrashing amidst her blankets, twisting in the clutches of a nightmare.

_I knew about her nightmares; why didn't I stay with her tonight?_ Claire thought bitterly, hating herself even though she knew it was somewhat illogical. She ran over to the bed and grabbed Jill by the shoulders. The screams coming from her were unearthly and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "Wake up!" she cried, shaking her. "Jill, wake up!"

Jill's eyes snapped open, and she wrenched her hands from her shoulders, pushing her back with a shout of, "Get away from me!"

Claire had no choice in the matter, being knocked several feet back and landing on the floor. "It's me! It's Claire!"

Steve was hovering near the door with an alarmed look on his face.

Jill had backed away from them as far as she could, and she continued staring for a while before her breathing calmed down and she whispered, "Claire? Steve?"

Claire got to her feet and took a tentative step towards her. "It's okay. It was just a nightmare." She looked towards Steve for support, but he was as white as a sheet. "It's okay now, Jill."

Jill collapsed onto her bed, sitting as though she expected to be attacked at any second. She kept looking at her hands, turning them over and holding them close to her eyes. From time to time she would stop and hug her arms around herself briefly, only to resume her study of her hands.

_Chris, why didn't you ever tell me how to handle a situation like this?_ she thought in distress, knowing that her brother had helped Jill through times like this in the past.

"It was just a nightmare," she said again.

"Just a nightmare," Jill repeated, but she didn't sound convinced.

xXx

Steve, seeming shaken, had gone back downstairs, to try to get some sleep. Jill said she had no intention of sleeping, but she had no intention of discussing the nightmare either. When Claire had attempted to broach the subject, thinking it might help her to talk about it, the other woman had nearly broken down in tears.

Instead, Jill had brought up some more files from the library, and was reading them while sitting in her bed, occasionally muttering unsettling things like, "I have to find a way to stop him. Them."

Unable to sleep while this was going on, Claire had said it was no problem and had grabbed the journal she and Steve had found in the facility beneath Rathbourne's garden. It still seemed to her to be the best tool to cracking open the Organization. As she had already noticed, it mainly comprised instructions and details about memberships and partnerships for people in the Organization.

About halfway through, however, it changed into photocopies of the author's reports and memos on projects the Organization had been working on. Some names she recognized, such as the G-virus and Las Plagas. Others, however, were mysterious, and it was these that she read closely, although most were worded so vaguely as to remain opaque. Several of them were old, however, and likely disconnected from what was happening now.

She turned the page and found a section headed with a more recent date.

_March 6, 2011_

_REPORT ON SUBJECT J_

_As the researcher in charge of the subject hereby referred to as SUBJECT J, I regretfully report that his condition is destabilizing. Unless something is done fast, he may go the way of the broken ones. The unusual conditions for working with this subject have resulted in a dangerous crisis in his mind._

_Observation indicates that his personality is clashing with the concepts of our new age. This retention of his own goals and ideals is essential—something that makes Subject J different from the others. Too delicate a touch will leave him intact and capable of betrayal. Too harsh a touch will send him over the brink._

_It will be difficult to reach a balance point._

_Addendum: I propose a simple way of slicing through the difficulties with this subject: the usage of our supply of the P30 drug. While it is a valuable resource, the success of our mission is more important. In this way, we can ensure that we keep the subject's loyalty without destroying his mind._

_Second Addendum: Proposal for the usage of the P30 drug on Subject J has been vetoed, though not due to personal distaste. As crude a method as it is, it could prove useful; however, the drug is being saved for the subject hereby referred to as SUBJECT F001. We will continue administering the Phobetor drug to Subject J, in reasonable doses and with careful observation._

Claire finished reading the report with a shiver. She hated the way these researchers all sounded so objective when talking about their experiments. She wondered who the poor _Subject J_ was and what in the world the Phobetor drug did.

She glanced over at Jill, who was still muttering at her own papers. So the Organization had a supply of P30—although a very small supply, from the sound of it. She wondered what was special about the second subject mentioned, that the entire supply was being reserved for use on them. Stranger still were the references in the second addendum to _personal distaste_ for the _crude_ method that was P30. It seemed to contrast oddly with the first addendum's reference to it as a _valuable resource_.

It occurred to her that since the researcher had proposed its usage, the second addendum could be using the words of his superior, the one who had vetoed the idea. In that case, someone with authority in the Organization found such a thing to be distasteful. That was unusual in itself, as they seemed to have no moral qualms about anything.

Frowning, Claire turned the page and found the next report.

_April 10, 2011_

_REPORT OF POSSIBLE INTRUDER_

_It is my solemn duty to report that someone attempted a break-in at this very lab where we are conducting the Phobetor Project. _

_Correction: Someone succeeded in breaking in. I cannot lie about so serious a matter. It is my professional opinion that we should immediately transfer our operations to the castle itself._

_It is possible that this unknown intruder was simply an electronic malfunction. He—or she, as this entity's identity is entirely unknown; for the purposes of this report, I shall say "he"—was seen by no one, caught on no cameras, took nothing, and left no sign of his presence at all. It was a single motion detection system that was set off, around one o'clock this afternoon._

_The fact that it was only one system presents two possibilities: that the intruder was very good and only slipped up once, or that the intruder was excellent and wanted to taunt our security. Still, I find it hard to accept that anyone would break in to do nothing but show that he could._

_Initial investigation indicates that absolutely nothing was touched. The motion detector set off was not near anything vital. In fact, it was so far out of the way as to support the theories of a taunting intruder or a malfunction._

_Some of the guards stationed around Subject J's cell reported seeing "something," but these vague testimonies have provided no help. To go by their account, they encountered either someone moving at superluminal speeds or a phantom._

_It brings to mind certain worries that have long since been quelled. I confess that I may need to be killed for my doubts._

That was the final page in the journal, and Claire read the final statement over and over again. It was bizarre, seemed to have no connection to anything else, and had the chillingly suicidal quality she had begun to associate with the Organization these days.

If only the author had been a bit more clear in his thoughts. Obviously, whoever had received these reports had known exactly what he was talking about. He wouldn't have written it to be clear to an outsider. Still, it irked her that she had documents from the Organization right in her hands and still didn't know what they were up to.

_The Phobetor Project._

But what was it?


	22. Chapter 22: Residue

Chapter 22: Residue

_It was only a nightmare._

Jill kept telling herself that, but as they journeyed to the hospital the next morning, she still had doubts. It had been so vivid, and it was lingering with her longer than it should. Despite her efforts to stay awake, she had fallen asleep one or two times anyway—always into dreams of zombies and B.O.W.s, things she had seen at the mansion, Raccoon City, and everywhere her work combating Umbrella had taken her. Each time, she had woken up almost immediately, before it could get too involved.

Claire was driving at Jill's request, because she didn't think she was in any condition to drive. Being awake wasn't proving to be that much better than being asleep.

Following the nightmare, she had expected it to linger with her. As she pored over the files, intent on finding anything that could help connect the pieces, she hadn't been surprised to keep reliving moments and feeling unexplained flashes of fear. They hadn't stopped, however.

It was as if reality kept short-circuiting, cutting into pieces of illusion and half-remembered nightmares. The safety of the car and the town's roads would melt away, becoming the Spencer Estate, Raccoon City, Kijuju, or even the laboratory from the nightmare, only to then return to normal. Phantom figures walked by and then faded from sight, joining her plague doctor in her procession from the past. Frightening sensations rose up from nowhere, causing her to feel like she was being crushed, held down, choked, or torn apart even as she sat alone in the backseat.

Through it all was the fear that it hadn't been a nightmare, that it all had somehow really happened—that she was still under Wesker's control, though not all the time.

_You did such a good job of blocking out the other attacks._

Even as she traveled with the others to the hospital to visit Chris, Barry, and Sheva, she worried that she had been the one who put them there. The thought made her feel sick. Fortunately, she had taken a step that was helping to hold her sanity together. She had made an appointment at the hospital, calling quietly that morning while Steve was still asleep and Claire was upstairs. No matter how it resonated with her memories, she was going to get her blood tested.

_I never suspected that the drug would linger in your system the way it did._

_ Shut up. I'll make a "wonderful anomaly" out of you!_

She wasn't sure that mentally yelling at her memories was healthy, but it relieved some of her stress. It seemed helpful to have someone to blame for what was happening, even if he was dead.

_Very, very dead._

Of course, she couldn't help but wonder what it would mean if the test showed she was just fine. Phantom fingers choked her and then vanished from around her neck, and she struggled to breathe normally. This was getting to be as bad as it had been in the early days, right after their return from Africa. She thought she had been getting better.

_Am I just that weak?_ she wondered in dismay, leaning her head against the cool glass of the car window to try to calm herself down. Her stomach was churning with anxiety. She didn't want to go in there. Not only would she have to face the hospital and her own appointment, but also Chris. He would know something was wrong as soon as he saw her.

"Are you going to be all right?" Claire asked, once she had parked the car.

"I'll be fine," she said, working to keep her voice steady. As they got out, she looked over at Steve. She would have to find a good time to ask him more about his ghosts. He was looking pale, however, and she knew now would not be a good time.

Once inside the hospital, they stopped in Sheva's room first, because it was the closest. To her surprise and relief, Leon was already there, sitting and talking to her.

"Leon!" Claire cried, hurrying over to him. "We were worried something had happened to you!"

Jill smiled at him, but then her attention was drawn to the wall above his head. Something about it was not quite right.

"I just had to take care of some things," he said, glancing up at them with a slight smile. "The best news is that we've finally got something—I've confirmed the location of the Control Plaga's host."

"That's excellent!" Claire cried.

The wall was bulging slightly, as if something were trying to force its way out. Tiny cracks began appearing.

"I wish I could come along to help," Sheva said. "You need to hurry, however. You can't wait for us. Josh contacted me… The H.C.F. seems to have disappeared again, but the infected soldiers have been forcing him to move from location to location."

Jill's head snapped towards her at that news. Her family, Barry's family, and Carlos and his family were in danger?

"They haven't caught him yet, however," she added quickly. "Don't worry. They just keep coming too close to his safe houses for comfort."

With that worry calmed, she looked back at the wall. It had returned to normal.

_What's happening to me?_ she wondered, looking around and seeing that there was nothing out of place anywhere in the room.

_Either it's a conspiracy against you or you're cracking up,_ a sarcastic voice suggested.

"Jill, are you all right?" Sheva asked suddenly.

She forced a smile. "Rough night."

The other woman nodded and didn't press her for further details. She probably thought she understood. An eerie song started playing somewhere, a haunting dirge that had no clear source. Jill looked around in confusion, until she noticed that no one else had reacted at all. A shiver went down her spine.

"Anyway," Sheva said, "Kirsty suggested that we find out Josh's location and then lay false trails leading away from him for the Organization to follow."

"No!" Jill shouted, more harshly than she had intended. She took a deep breath as they stared at her and then said, "With everything that's happened, we have to assume there was a traitor in the B.S.A.A. If Josh contacts you again, tell him to stay away from any place connected with the B.S.A.A. and not to trust anyone!"

"All right," she said, still looking alarmed by her outburst. "Perhaps you're right. I'll see what he thinks."

Relieved, she returned her attention to trying to remain calm. They spent several more minutes there, talking about the state of things both in general and specific to Sheva's situation, and then Leon got up from where he had been sitting by her bed.

"We have to visit the others and then get planning," he said. "We'll take down Las Plagas, and then we'll find whoever attacked you, Sheva."

She smiled. "I hope I'm out soon so that I can take a shot at him, too."

Claire started to say something, but she was interrupted by Steve, who cried, "They're everywhere!" and fled from the room. Her mouth snapped closed and she stared after him with wide eyes.

Jill hurried out as well. Just out in the parking lot, she had been comparing his situation to her own, but now he had reminded her unsettlingly of a cold-eyed man who had also claimed that _they_ were everywhere. The music followed her out, and for a second she thought she felt something brush against her, a fluttering touch that somehow lacked substance.

Steve had stopped a few feet away from the room and stood with his back against the wall, clutching his head. He looked up when she approached, but not even a forced smile appeared on his pale, drawn face.

"Don't worry," he said, lifting his hands slightly. He took a step back, as though he was afraid she was going to attack him. "I'm fine. Really."

She raised her own hands in a placating gesture. "Relax. I only wanted to ask you what you meant."

He shook his head. "It was nothing. I just didn't get enough sleep last night. That's all."

"Was it the ghosts again?" she pressed. For a second it seemed that an invisible presence had her pinned to the ground, smothering her. A shudder ran through her and the sensation vanished. "Was it an illusion you couldn't explain, or a feeling that came out of nowhere?"

He shook his head and stepped past her sharply. "It was nothing," he repeated coolly, walking down the hall away from her.

"Wait!" she called after him, but he picked up his pace and kept walking as if he hadn't heard her. She stared after him, frustrated that he didn't trust them enough to talk about it. Something was happening to him—it had to be, with what he had been saying—and he should know better than to try to hide it.

_But you don't want to see your dear Chris because he might notice something is wrong,_ the voice in her head pointed out mockingly.

Shaking her head, she returned to Sheva's doorway and shrugged. "He went on without me. I don't know what's bothering him."

_Anyway, that's entirely different,_ she told herself. _I just don't want Chris to worry too much. He'd take it too seriously, when there's really nothing wrong._

They started walking in the direction of Barry's room, the next closest, when the hallway abruptly became a forest. An infected dog leaped towards her, and she dodged—colliding with Claire who gave her a rather concerned look.

"Sorry," she said, looking around at the hospital hallway, visible again. "I tripped."

_Oh no, nothing wrong at all._

Barry wasn't alone in his room, either. From several feet away, he could be heard telling some wild story about chasing down a washing machine that had decided to leave the house under its own power. When they reached the room, they saw that his mystified-looking audience was made up of Steve, standing near the door, and Kirsty, sitting against the wall.

He brought his story to an end upon seeing them, and Kirsty jumped to her feet.

"Barry is fine, and Steve won't talk to me, but how are all of you on this wonderful morning?" she cried. She seemed positively ecstatic, and she beamed as she looked at each one of them.

"I'm fine," Claire said, walking over to Steve. She looked worried about him, and they began to talk quietly to one another.

Jill made a noncommittal noise in response, distracted by the room rapidly going in and out of focus. Kirsty looked at her curiously, but Leon got her attention by repeating his news about finding the Plagas' leader's headquarters.

"All right!" Barry cheered. "They're going down!"

Much as they had done in Sheva's room, they spent the time in conversation that ranged from casual banter to serious discussion. Most of it was carried by Barry, Kirsty, and Leon, and since Leon was somewhat quiet all the time, the silence started to feel like a living thing. Even the keening notes of the dirge died out.

"Did something new happen," Barry asked, "or are you all so glum because we're in the middle of the Apocalypse?"

"I'm fine," Steve muttered.

"I had a rough night," Jill answered automatically.

Claire just indicated the two of them and gave a tiny shrug.

"Well, I hope things start going better," he sighed.

The television in the corner was changing form…it wasn't a television at all, but a horrible mass of writhing tentacles… Jill shook her head sharply, and the image of Uroboros returned to being just a television.

Kirsty gave her an odd look. "Is something wrong, Jill?"

"No." Nothing was wrong, and those definitely weren't teeth tearing into her arm, either. Just a quick glance down showed that there was nothing there. She brushed off her arm just to be sure.

Kirsty raised her eyebrows slightly and then shrugged, turning abruptly to Barry. She curtsied and actually kissed his hand, causing him to gape at her as though she had lost her mind. "My dear Mr. Burton, I almost forgot to tell you that I have finished watching your videos! They have been wonderful, and I can return them to you as soon as it is convenient."

"O-okay…" He continued to stare at her as she trotted out of the room with a grin on her face.

Steve shook his head and followed.

_Strange woman, isn't she? Maybe she's a part of the conspiracy._

_ What conspiracy?_ Jill thought in annoyance, as they said their goodbyes to Barry and continued on their way to Chris's room.

_The one that proves you're perfectly sane _and_ in control._

She gritted her teeth and focused on walking after the others. That sarcastic little voice was getting on her nerves, especially since she had realized that the voice itself wasn't hers, but had been borrowed from memories.

_If a hallucination has to argue with me, why does it have to be Wesker?_ For a second, she saw him standing up ahead, watching her, but just as she stopped short in alarm, he vanished.

_ Perhaps of all your hallucinations, I'm the one most likely to argue._

_ Shut up._

She took a deep breath and focused her mind on something else—not a hard task at all, since the floor tiles looked like they were considering biting her feet—because she didn't want to have to explain to Chris that she was arguing with voices in her head. He would definitely notice if she was that preoccupied.

Unfortunately, focusing on the external world set off the warping of reality. By the time they reached Chris's room, she had jumped away from two doors, nearly drawn her gun on a nurse who briefly looked like a zombie, and almost tripped when the world blurred and twisted, not to mention reflexively kicking the floor tiles.

"Hello, Chris!" she greeted brightly in an attempt to forestall any concern on his part, before sitting hastily down in a chair before it could run away. It had looked like it might try to. This wasn't working at all. She could feel the beginnings of a panic attack coming on.

_Focus,_ she told herself. _Think about something else, anything else!_

She tried to concentrate on happy memories, which did mean that the world around her calmed down somewhat. On the downside, she could barely pay attention to the conversations going on between Chris and the others, especially with Wesker's voice taunting her in her head. She was starting to feel faintly dizzy.

The others' voices seemed distant. Claire was talking about something…something about the journal she and Steve had found. Kirsty was asking if she could take it to compare with her data. Leon was telling Chris his news. The furniture was rising up to attack—no, no it wasn't. Chris was cautioning them all to be careful. Someone was shaking her, throwing her backwards—no, there was no one there. Kirsty was throwing in less-than-helpful comments about handy tricks she had seen in a crime drama. Wesker was sarcastically praising her ability to keep from losing her head.

_I haven't lost my head!_ she hissed angrily in silence, barely keeping from speaking out loud. She was just having increasingly bizarre hallucinations and talking to people who were dead. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost ten—the time of her appointment. The thought gave her a surge of confidence. _Soon I'll be rid of these doubts. So stop it, already! Leave me alone, or I'll break your arm._

The voice in her head sounded less than convinced. You_ are going to break _my_ arm?_

_ Want to see me try? Stand and fight!_

_ How can I do that? I'm only a voice in your head!_

_ Hah! You admitted you're only a voice in my head!_

She felt worn out, but oddly triumphant. The other hallucinations had dwindled during the conversation, and now she felt almost normal again. She suddenly realized that everyone in the room was staring at her, and she worried that someone had asked her something that she hadn't heard. A second later, she realized it was because she was grinning like an idiot.

"Uh…sorry…" She hastily stopped smiling. There was no way she was going to be able to explain that one. She glanced at the clock again and started to get up. A wave of exhaustion struck her, and she grabbed the edge of the chair for support. Feeling dazed, she slowly rose to her feet. "I have to go somewhere, I'm afraid…"

They were still all staring at her, looking worried. Chris looked so concerned, she thought he was going to jump out of the bed and run over to her. The only person who looked more concerned was Kirsty, who had buried her face in her hands.

_I couldn't have looked _that_ bad._

"Really, I'm fine!" she protested, heading towards the door. For the first time all day, she felt like it was the truth. She had won the argument in her mind, time was passing without her seeing anything strange, and she was about to get her P30 worries settled once and for all.

"Where are you going?" Chris asked, his voice gentle but with a trace of alarm in it.

"I have an appointment," she admitted. She glanced around at the group—seeing particularly Steve and Kirsty, who still didn't know what had happened to her—and added, "I'll come back to see you later, and we can talk about it, okay Chris?" She gave him a meaningful look, hoping he would realize she didn't want to discuss it in front of everyone.

If anything, he looked even more worried, but he nodded. "All right. Good luck."

"Thanks," she said, smiling and heading out the door.

She hadn't gone more than two steps in the direction of the waiting room when she heard running footsteps behind her. She turned, and saw Kirsty running after her. Despite wearing a dress that reached the floor, she didn't even stumble. Still, having run in a long skirt before and not enjoyed the experience, Jill walked towards her so that she wouldn't have to run the whole way.

"What is it?"

Kirsty stopped, looking out of breath and nervous. "I was wondering…that is, if you don't mind…could I come with you?"

"What?" Jill stared at her.

She glanced down and shifted from foot to foot. "I just need a change of scenery. Being back there, in that room… Well, all this hospital stuff brings back…memories. Um, do you know what I mean?"

"I think so. It does for me, too." Although, she realized, the usual uneasiness brought on by the hospital was now the only thing bothering her, other than the anxiety about what this test might show. The strange hallucinations had faded entirely, she hoped.

"So I can come? Please?"

"Well, you can sit in the waiting room," Jill said.

That seemed to be enough. Beaming, Kirsty settled in alongside her as they walked down the hallway. "Remember when I asked if you were like James Bond?" she asked, after a few moments.

How could she forget? It had been in response to Chris's quick explanation that she had been _undercover_ in Africa.

Jill thought she saw someone in a dark gray cloak walk by up ahead and chose to ignore it. "I remember," she said cautiously.

"Well…are you?"

"Not exactly. No gadgets, no special cars, no guns hidden in my jewelry or anything like that."

"No affairs?"

Jill felt her eyebrows shoot up, and she turned to meet her intense stare with an incredulous one. "Err, no."

She seemed disappointed. "How about disguises?"

"Of course. What spy would be complete without a disguise?" It didn't matter that this was getting close to what had happened while being under Wesker's control; the sheer ridiculousness of the conversation made it feel harmless.

"What kind of disguise?" Kirsty asked eagerly.

"I dyed my hair," she muttered.

"Is that it?"

"Sometimes I wore a cloak," she added, deciding to stick to the truth as much as she could. It wouldn't do for Kirsty to ask her about it later and have her not remember her own story. At _best_, she would think she had been humoring her, and that would make Jill feel guilty. Kirsty didn't know she was treading on such a sensitive subject.

"No sunglasses?"

Jill jumped and raised her eyebrows at her. _Sunglasses. Of all the articles of clothing she could have named, she had to pick _his_ signature item._ "No, why?"

"I thought all spies wore sunglasses! You know, like the men in black? Black suits, sunglasses, mysterious fellows who walk around like this?" Kirsty straightened her shoulders and stalked down the hallway, whirling around partway with an ominous glare.

Jill took a step back in spite of herself, and then forced a laugh. "No, not quite. I met some people like that, though." _That actually was a passable imitation of him. Did she ever meet him?_

They had reached the waiting room, and Kirsty tried to continue the conversation as they sat down, but she was saved by being a couple of minutes late. Dr. Jones was already waiting for her, and she told Kirsty they would have to finish talking about spies later, before following him out of the waiting room.

A shout of, "Hurry back soon!" followed her out.

xXx

Jill appreciated that the hospital needed you to sign a consent form even for a blood test. It kept everything official and presumably safe. She took it very seriously, although she suspected that some patients barely bothered to read the form at all. If she was going to sign something, she intended to know exactly what it said.

She reached the bottom of the form, where the line for her signature was, and then she looked back at the top to read it over one more time.

"Want to check for invisible ink?"

She gave the doctor a flat look over the top of the paper.

He held up his hands with a sheepish smile. "I know, I know, I'm sorry. Don't tell anyone I said that, please. At this rate, if we're ever attacked, the administration's first line of defense is going to be handing me a sword and shouting 'Go get 'em!'"

She rolled her eyes and then finished reading the form for the third and final time before finally signing her name. She passed it to him and took a deep breath to steady her nerves; they were already in the lab and waiting. All she had to do now was sit down and let him take her blood.

Jill walked over to the seat in question and sat in it, tapping her foot rapidly on the floor.

He glanced at her. "You're all right, aren't you?"

"That's what this test will determine," she said, attempting a joke of her own.

He smiled and started getting out all of the equipment he needed. "Another test for P30, correct?"

"Yes." She took a few more deep breaths. She knew it was ridiculous, really, that she could fight zombies and other B.O.W.s but was getting bent out of shape about a needle being put in her arm. There was nothing to be afraid of.

_A cold needle pricked the side of her neck…_

"You aren't going to pass out on me, are you?" Dr. Jones asked, taking a good look at her face as he tied the tourniquet around her arm.

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"Relax, I haven't lost a patient all day." He chuckled, then looked at her face and winced. "I really should stop trying to lighten the mood, shouldn't I?"

Jill looked away as the needle slid into her arm. She could feel the memories tugging at her again… _No, no, no!_ She was back there, coming out of unconsciousness to view a strange scene: Horbes and his partner were standing guard near the door, a handful of assistants were clustered together, and standing above her was Wesker, staring down at her with those inhuman eyes and that cold smirk that made him seem even less human, and she struggled to get free but was restrained, held down on the table, and she was in pain and needed to _get away_…

"Calm down. It's all right."

Reality reasserted itself, and she realized that the only thing she was struggling against was the restraining hand of Dr. Jones. That didn't help matters much, since he still was a doctor, wearing that white coat, and she found that her panic and fear wasn't fading. She tried to jump free, and he gently pushed her back. His face was filled with concern.

"We're almost done here. Just breathe."

That was easier said than done, but breathing normally gave her something to concentrate on. She closed her eyes, feeling the prickling of tears, as he released the tourniquet and pulled the needle from her arm.

_Am I _never_ going to function like a normal person again?_

"Hold this here," he said, placing a ball of cotton on her arm. He flipped the tube of blood a couple of times. "This test can be run very quickly, so I'll send it off and wait here for the results with you."

As he handed it to a nurse who had arrived, instructing her about what test to run, Jill wondered why he wasn't going himself, like he had done the last time. Her question was answered a moment later, when he finished bandaging her arm and then placed a consoling hand on her shoulder.

"It's all right," he said again, gently. "What happened is nothing to be ashamed of. I've seen worse cases."

"I bet," she muttered.

"I have! And with you being a member of the B.S.A.A., I can only imagine the sorts of things you must have seen. Scientists, doctors…mental associations are very hard to break. I promise you, I'm not like them. I became a doctor because I wanted to help people. I wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

"I know," she said. She couldn't meet his gaze. How must he feel, having her fight him for no good reason? "But…"

"I understand. It could be worse." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grin. "Just look at your friend… At least you didn't hit me."

She looked up at the splint on his nose and couldn't hold back a smile. "Well…" She thought about Chris punching the doctor in the dark and a laugh escaped her. She tried to stop, but then she looked at Dr. Jones again and started laughing harder. At least he seemed entertained by the situation, instead of upset. When she finally composed herself, she wiped her eyes and said, "Thanks."

"You're welcome. By the way…" He glanced around conspiratorially and then whispered, "Is anyone _ever_ going to tell me what this drug does?"

Jill remembered Chris's flat refusal to explain and smiled. "You've just been waiting to ask me that, haven't you?"

"Not at all!" he protested, frowning. "In fact, if I hadn't gotten a laugh out of you, I'd have dropped the subject entirely!"

He looked sincere, and she knew that there really was no harm in telling him what it did. She realized with a jolt of surprise that she trusted him. "It enhances speed and strength, but it also…takes away your free will."

Dr. Jones looked aghast. "Takes away… And people were _using_ this?"

"Yes. Wesker, at least, used it on…on people." She unconsciously reached up towards the scar on her chest and quickly lowered her hand when she realized what she was doing. The motion didn't go unnoticed.

"You…" His eyes widened. He looked to be at a complete loss for words. He took half a step towards her and then withdrew, looking awkward. "Could I bring you cookies, or something?"

She stared at him. "Cookies?"

He flushed and mumbled, "Well, when I was a kid, whenever someone was mean to me at school, my mom would give me cookies."

"Thanks, but no, that's fine." As silly an offer as it had been, she couldn't help but feel gratified at the genuine sincerity of it. "It's enough to finally have a doctor I trust."

He looked surprised, and then he smiled. "I'm glad."

The nurse returned with the results then, handing the sheet to Dr. Jones. Jill felt her stomach lurch. This was it, then. She held her breath as he looked it over and then looked up at her.

"You're fine. There's not a trace of it in your system."

She let out her breath in one long sigh of relief. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"You know, it's not my place to say this," he said, "but if you were worried someone was…controlling you…without your knowledge, you must be having some trouble."

_Trouble isn't the half of it._

"Have you talked to anyone close to you about it?"

"No…" She hesitated, and then added, "I'm going to talk to Chris about it today, though."

"Good." He smiled. "Come on, we better get back before your friend gets too anxious."

Between the weight of that worry taken from her shoulders, the trust that had formed between her and Dr. Jones, and the thought of Kirsty coming up with more inane questions, Jill couldn't help but laugh.


	23. Chapter 23: Preparations

Chapter 23: Preparations

As they had been left alone, Claire had hoped she would be able to tell Chris her worries about Steve. Unfortunately, she thought he and Leon might be standing right out in the hallway, still within earshot. If he didn't want to bring up the problem of the ghosts on his own, she didn't think he would appreciate her doing so.

She didn't tell him about Jill's nightmare, either. For one thing, she didn't know all the details herself, and for another thing, she didn't think it was her place to bring it up.

Instead, she had talked to him about how she worried that the relative inactivity of the Organization lately meant they were preparing for something big, how she feared there was something greater than they realized at work—such as the theoretical figure operating from the shadows—and how she missed him.

"Oh come on," he said, laughing, "if all of this hadn't started happening, you would have gone home after the weekend and wouldn't be around to talk to me anyway!"

"It's different with you being in the hospital. It makes me worry."

"Hey, they haven't killed me yet," he said. His gaze suddenly went past her.

Turning, Claire saw that Jill had arrived and was lingering in the doorway. "I don't mean to interrupt."

"No, that's okay," Claire said. " I was going to be going soon, anyway."

Even more importantly, she knew that her brother was anxious to find out what was troubling Jill. Saying goodbye, she walked out into the hallway and—not to her surprise—nearly tripped over Steve. He was standing right by the door, with Leon leaning against the wall across from him. On the other side of the door was Kirsty, now peeking into the room.

"Let's go somewhere for a while," Claire suggested.

"What, shouldn't we wait?" Steve asked, looking surprised.

"If we leave now, we won't know when to return to pick up Jill!" Kirsty protested.

_I think she'd rather have to wait than have the lot of us standing right outside the door, listening,_ she thought dryly.

Sure enough, Jill stuck her head out and asked, "You aren't going to stand there the entire time, are you?"

"Actually, we were just leaving," Leon said, straightening.

"We were?" Kirsty asked.

"Yes, we were," Claire said, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the door. She propelled her towards Leon, who started walking down the hall with Kirsty and Steve in tow. Then she looked back at Jill. "When do you want us to come back?"

"I could just call if I need someone to come back for me."

"All right." She smiled. "I'll be sure to have my phone on."

"Thanks."

As she hurried down the hall after the others, she passed a staff room with its door open, and she could see Dr. Jones making coffee inside. She said hello to him, and then stopped as she saw that his arm was bandaged.

"What happened?"

"What?" He glanced down at his arm. "Oh, that." He set down his empty cup and smiled sheepishly. "Well, it was another one of those mysteriously simple events—and our newest rule is that I do not tell jokes to people I haven't spoken to before. I was just talking to your friends Jill and Kirsty, and I, err, said something careless."

Claire winced, remembering how Jill had nearly attacked her the night before while still in the clutches of the nightmare. She could think of any of a number of _careless_ things the doctor could have said.

"We were in the waiting room, and I just joked that I might as well test Kirsty's blood and get it over with, since it seems to be a common request. Then she attacked me." He glanced down at his shoes and mumbled, "I wasn't _really_ going to cart her off and take her blood; she didn't have to try to claw my arm off…"

She stared at him. _Kirsty_ had attacked him? "I'm…sorry to hear that…"

He shrugged. "I'll just be more careful from now on. Good seeing you!"

She left him and found the others, standing near the main entrance and looking around for her. As they walked out into the parking lot, she glanced at Kirsty, who seemed perfectly calm now—and had while they were outside of Chris's room, too. She wondered what had happened in her past to make their noncombatant violently scratch up a doctor's arm at the mere suggestion of him drawing blood.

She sighed and put that thought with all of the other things she didn't understand about Kirsty—like her vehement passion about destroying the Organization. At those times, she seemed almost like a different person from the woman who fumbled for words and spoke without thinking.

"So where are we going?" Steve asked.

"Well, I had an idea…" Leon said. "We can't ignore the fact that our numbers are diminishing and that we're going to be going after the Control Plaga as soon as possible. We need to do certain things to prepare, and the first thing we should do is teach Kirsty some self-defense."

"Wait, what?" she asked, giving him an alarmed look.

"You're always worried about being attacked while you're alone. At least if you have some basic training, you'll have a better shot if that does happen."

"Oh no," she said, shaking her head. "No, no, no, this won't end well, and nothing you say will convince me!"

xXx

"How did he do that?" Kirsty whispered to Claire, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably and giving the gun in her hand a glum look.

Claire just laughed. They were all now back in Chris's house, since the repairs to the upstairs were all but completed. She was sitting cross-legged against the wall in the basement, which was in fact designed for combat training. It also was the only place in the house where the security system wasn't overly excitable, allowing mild mayhem without setting off alarms.

Mats of blue rubber covered the floor, and the walls were plain white, visibly patched in places where they had suffered damage in the past. The corners were piled with equipment, such as dummies, targets, and—she was certain she even saw practice swords in there, although she couldn't imagine when her brother had thought swashbuckling would come in handy.

Steve was sitting next to Claire, with his legs stretched out in front of him. Leon finished checking over the room to make sure nothing was amiss and then walked back over to them.

"All right," he said. "Your gun is loaded with dummy rounds, which means you can't shoot one of us by accident."

"With my luck, I will anyway," she mumbled.

"Oh, cheer up," Steve said. "Even Claire can shoot."

Claire whacked him on the arm, not appreciating being used as the baseline for people capable of firing a gun. He yelped and rubbed the spot where she had hit him, frowning.

"Claire is an excellent shot," Leon said.

"Thank you." She gave Steve a smug look, and he responded by glowering at Leon in such a way that she really hoped he never got talking to Kirsty about the supposed "chemistry" she saw.

"Kirsty? How would you go about firing that gun?"

"Umm…" She lifted the gun experimentally, although her hand was shaking enough that it appeared to be bobbing up and down. She brought up her other hand to help steady it. She glanced up at Leon. "You aren't going to come up behind me and try to help me aim in a way that becomes increasingly awkward due to our proximity, are you?"

He raised his eyebrows. "No."

Steve leaned closer to Claire. "Hey, we should go practice shooting later, too, if you know what I mean—ow!" he yelped, as she hit him again.

Kirsty was mumbling unencouraging statements about having to pull "that trigger thingy," and with some difficulty, she managed to get the gun to fire. The dummy bullet popped out, and she screamed and fell backwards against the wall.

"Well," Leon began, "that was—"

"That was enough!" she finished for him, crouching to shove the gun into Claire's hands. "I got it! Trigger, pull! That's enough!"

"This is going well," Steve whispered.

Claire got up and handed the gun back to Leon with a shrug. "Maybe she'd rather something that doesn't involve firearms?"

He nodded as she returned to her spot against the wall. She didn't sit this time, however, but remained standing. She stretched and wondered if Kirsty would be less intimidated if she were the one to help. After a moment, Steve stood up as well.

"Let's see what you can do with some hand-to-hand training," Leon said.

Kirsty made a choking noise. "What, are you kidding? Why would I fight hand-to-hand?"

"What if your opponent gets close and grabs you?"

"I'll fire the gun at close range."

"What if your opponent is fast enough to dodge bullets?"

Her eyebrows shot up in the air and she put her hands on her hips. "Mr. Kennedy, I hope you realize that if I meet someone who can _dodge bullets_, I won't need to worry about fighting, because I'll be running as fast as I can in the opposite direction!"

Steve started laughing.

Claire looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

"Well, she has a point," he explained, still laughing.

She rolled her eyes. Neither Steve nor Kirsty had actually _met_ Wesker, had they? Nor did it seem to be occurring to them that anyone fast enough to dodge bullets would be hard, if not impossible, to outrun.

"And then what will you do when you're caught?" Leon asked.

"Probably die, sadly."

He gave her a skeptical look. "What if someone grabs you and you can't reach your gun?"

"Oh, fine." She planted her feet and raised her hands dramatically. "Ya!" She started waving them around. "Come and get me! Do your worst!"

Leon took one step towards her, and her hands were suddenly up in an indication of surrender.

"I changed my mind!"

"I wasn't going to hurt you…"

Claire took pity on her and walked to stand in between them. "Would it make you feel better to practice with me instead?"

"Not really," she mumbled, but she did assume her karate stance again.

"You can lower your hands, you know," she pointed out. "We'll start out simply. I'll grab you, and you try to break free."

She moved in and, trying to make it as simple as possible, grabbed Kirsty's right arm. "Now, pull free." As far as she could tell, the other woman barely moved her arm at all. Claire twisted it around to her back, moving behind her and grabbing her other shoulder. "Don't hesitate. This is a bad position to be in."

Kirsty flailed her free hand in wild jabs that came nowhere near Claire, and kicked backwards at more air. At last, she cried, "But you're hurting my arm!"

Claire released her and moved around to stand in front her again. "Try it on me, now."

"What, grab your arm?"

"Yes. I'll show you how to break free."

She looked dubious, but she walked forward and grabbed her arm gingerly. Claire pulled herself free, doing her best to indicate that she was moving forward to add momentum to the pull, although it wasn't really needed here. She also brought her elbow up sharply, although she deliberately aimed so that she didn't actually hit Kirsty.

"Oh! I see what you did! I got it, now!"

Claire eyed her dubiously. "Let's see, then." She darted in, grabbing Kirsty's arm again and preparing to pull it behind her as she had done before. Kirsty wrenched her arm free with surprising force, jumping back to stand about a foot away, although she nearly lost her balance.

_I guess she really did get it._

"Good job," she congratulated.

Kirsty beamed for a moment, but then it faded to a frown. "Wait, what about the other scenario? I mean, if you could dodge bullets, in the time it took me to break free you've probably broken my arm, kicked me in the stomach, and knocked me out with your other hand."

Leon cleared his throat. "I've never been in that situation, so I don't know for sure, but I would recommend moving unpredictably."

She blinked at him. "Unpredictably?"

"You might face an enemy who's fast—inhumanly fast—but it's not like he's using the Force. He'll still have to predict your movements to react to them, even if he's reacting at lightning speeds. So, don't be predictable at all."

"Okay!" Kirsty pushed her braids away from her face and grabbed the sides of her skirt as though running. She didn't seem intimidated by facing him anymore. "So, after you dodged all of my bullets, I ran as fast as I could but got caught, and now I'm being cornered by you, Leon Wesker! Let's try this!"

Leon gaped at her for a moment and then said, "I don't think I can depict that accurately…"

She nodded, beaming again. "Don't worry, it'll be like the practice is in slow motion!" She was still frozen in her running stance. "Come on!"

He stared at her for a second longer and then ran towards her. She spun in an exaggeratedly slow pirouette, which moved her about an inch away from her starting position. Leon reached her as she was finishing the twirl and put one hand on her back to push her against the wall.

"I'll admit I wouldn't have predicted a pirouette," he said, "but it didn't help you very much."

She twisted her head to look at him and smirked. "Here we go with the awkward positions. You're usually a gentleman, Leon, but I feel confined and a bit like I'm being taken advantage of here."

Claire rolled her eyes as Leon let Kirsty go and stepped away to regard her with an incredulous expression.

Steve's warm breath against her neck made her jump, as he whispered, "We should practice some hand-to-hand combat right after our shooting practice."

She elbowed him and heard a gasp; she glanced back to see that he was holding his stomach. Her face was heating up, and she was glad he was at least in some discomfort as well due to that remark.

He still managed a casual grin. "You know you'd love it, Claire."

She shook her head and looked back at Leon and Kirsty. She thought about stepping in to help again. She thought about doing some personal training to prepare for the upcoming strike against the Control Plaga's host. She did her best to think about a great many things that did not involve Steve pinning her against a wall, although that thought kept creeping back in.

"Come on," Steve urged. "Let's let them practice alone."

"You mean you think _we_ should be alone," she pointed out. Glancing back, she saw that he was grinning. He didn't even try to deny it.

"We'll be fine," Leon said, overhearing them. He was now waiting for Kirsty to try to attack him. "I think I can even handle her attitude."

Kirsty snorted. She was currently circling him, making vaguely karate-like gestures with her hands.

Claire looked at Steve again. On one hand, she had the feeling that being alone with him while he was in this sort of mood could go bad pretty quickly, but on the other hand, she knew she could take care of herself. The flutters in her stomach that had yet to die down from the previous thought indicated that he would have to do quite a bit to reach that point, anyway.

"All right," she finally agreed. "Let's go upstairs for a little bit. Call if you need anything."

"Call if you're coming up, too," Steve added, "just in case—ow!"

Claire rolled her eyes at him and led the way up the stairs as he rubbed his arm. The door to the basement was in the kitchen, and she had barely taken two steps out onto the tile floor when he caught up to her. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

She wiggled free, to his visible dismay. "Come on, Steve, we're in the kitchen!" she protested. "This is hardly romantic."

_We also have a lot of more important things to worry about, but I'm not going to be the one to mention that. We can say there will be time later, but there wasn't time later thirteen years ago._

"Any place is romantic as long as you're there, Claire," he said with a smile.

She laughed and continued walking in the general direction of the living room. "Your lines are getting worse," she teased.

He caught up with her again just as she reached the living room, and he wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Then I'll stop talking," he whispered, brushing his lips against her neck.

A shiver ran through her, even though she felt almost unbearably warm. His body was warm too, pressed up against her as he carefully turned her around to face him. She looked into his eyes for a moment, noticing how he was studying her face—as if looking for something, or trying to memorize it.

She closed her eyes and leaned towards him, kissing him on the lips before she could back out. The fluttering in her stomach had gone mad, as had her heartbeat. She thought distantly that there was something she should tell him about the room they were in but it was impossible to think of anything but continuing when he returned her kiss.

He separated from her so that they could breathe. Her breaths were coming in quick, tiny gasps, and he smiled as he brought up one hand to push a stray piece of hair out of her face.

"That wasn't as bad as my line, was it?" he asked.

"Not even close," she assured him, letting her hands slide up his back and around his arm so that she could run her fingers through his hair.

He smiled before kissing her again, sending thrills through her. Her lips parted slightly in enjoyment, and he deepened the kiss, holding her even closer. She edged them backwards, not separating from him but hoping to reach the couch or another place they could sit. Either accidentally or deliberately, Steve's feet tangled with her, and she fell backwards.

Claire hit the ground and opened her eyes to see if he was coming too, just as the wall behind her made a soft clicking sound, and a spear flew out to lodge itself in the opposite wall, ruffling Steve's hair in the process.

He yelped and twisted his head to look at it. "What was that?"

She tried to hold back her laughter and failed after one look at his face. Holding her stomach, she choked out, "That's part of…Chris's security system!"

"Security system?" he repeated incredulously, as she started to sit up. "That's a _spear_, Claire!"

She fell backwards, laughing again. "The idea is that if someone attacked him, his body would hit the floor, triggering the spear, which would take his opponent off guard." She propped herself up with one arm and commented, "Come to think of it, you really better not press me against the wall."

"I don't even want to know," he said. He still looked horrified.

Claire got up and retrieved the spear. Fortunately, the opposite wall had been designed with such treatment in mind; it had slammed neatly into an indentation that was only faintly visible unless you were looking for it. She took it over to the other side of the room, lifted up the hidden panel that hid its spot in the wall, and reloaded the trap.

"So, where's the secret passage?" Steve asked. "Do I need to find some crests on the wall before I can get in?"

She turned around and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Sorry," he apologized. "You have to admit, though, your brother seems kind of paranoid now."

"Can you blame him?" she asked softly.

"No," he admitted, looking down at the floor. After a few seconds of silence, he looked back up at her. "So, if we sit on the couch, nothing horrible will happen, right? I mean, I _slept_ on that couch!"

"I think the couch is safe," she assured him.

He sat down slowly, as if expecting it to blow up at sudden movements. She rolled her eyes and hopped into the seat next to him, giggling when he jumped.

Steve wrapped his arms around her again, but he seemed to have lost his enthusiasm. She snuggled close to him, resting her head on his chest and wondering what she could say or do to cheer up him.

"They're here, you know," he said quietly, interrupting her thoughts.

She lifted her head to look up at him. His face was drawn, and his eyes were flickering around. "Who?" she asked, feeling an icy pit form in her stomach. _Not this again. Not now._

"The ghosts," he whispered. "I thought they would go away when I'm with you, but they haven't. More keep coming, every day. In fact, they're closing in…" She felt a shudder go through him as he finished, "They're waiting to go for the kill…"

That same feeling was rapidly sweeping away any warmth that had been in her, and now her skin felt clammy. It was unnerving to be this close to someone speaking about such things. She stared out into the living room, wishing she could see what he saw, if only to know that he wasn't insane. As she looked out, she saw only normal, inanimate furniture.

"They're all different," he said, sounding almost like he was in a daze. "Right by the television is the one who attacked us the other day." He lifted his hand to point. "Over there is one that looks almost like your brother, except that he has no skin and his clothes are tattered, and he keeps threatening me with a long hook. He's one of the newer ones. There are some blobby demon things sitting on that chair there, too. Just behind you is a woman in a tattered lab coat; she's covered in bloodstains, even her hair. She's all misty, and hard to look at. I wish she wasn't hovering so close to you. That one over by the dining room has golden eyes and keeps fading in and out of focus. And that one there—"

"Steve," she interrupted, disliking how high-pitched her voice was. "Please stop."

"I'm sorry," he said, and fell silent.

She knew she was too stiff now, and she tried to relax against him, but she couldn't. Her skin was prickling, and she kept looking around, as though expecting to see one of these phantoms pop into view. Those descriptions had given her the creeps.

_These things can't really exist, can they?_ she wondered in alarm. _Why are they so vivid for him? _Is_ he going mad?_

"Claire, don't be afraid of them," Steve said, misunderstanding her alarm. He stroked her hair gently. "I know you can't see them, but I know how to fight them. They won't hurt you, I promise."

She sat up, pulling away from him almost involuntarily. "How do you…fight them?"

He sighed and lowered his head. "I have to be strong. I can't doubt my instincts…no matter what. I have to do it. Then they'll go away."

"Do what?" she whispered. There had to be something more; he couldn't really think that strength and confidence were enough…although perhaps such abstract things really were enough to fight off delusions.

_Delusions. Now I've admitted that he's seeing things._

It terrified her, and it pained her to realize that she was afraid, sitting there alone with him. She was afraid because she wasn't sure what might happen next.

When her cell phone started ringing in her pocket, she jumped and nearly screamed. Trying to compose herself, she pulled it out and flipped it open.

"Hello?"

"It's me," Jill said. "You don't need to come pick me up; I walked home."

"Oh, you didn't have to do that!" she protested.

"It's okay. I wanted to have some time alone to think, anyway. Listen, I think we should meet up to talk about this mission to destroy the Control Plaga. Are you at Chris's house? I can come right—"

"No, we'll come there!" Claire interrupted her. "We'll be right over!"

She knew it would have made more sense for Jill to come to them, rather than for the four of them to all go to her house. However, if there was one thing she really needed right then, it was to get out of the house and let the fresh air clear her mind.

xXx

"Oh my, you redecorated!" Kirsty cried as soon as they entered Jill's living room, flopping forward onto the couch and collapsing with her face buried in the cushions.

"Tired?" Leon asked skeptically.

"_Redecorated_?" Claire repeated, looking around at the room. As far as she could tell, everything was just the same as it had been the last time she was here. Not a single chair was in a new place.

"Ignore her, she's crazy," Steve whispered in her ear, although she wasn't sure he had the right to say that about anyone.

Jill was staring at Kirsty with a slightly alarmed look on her face. "Are you all right?"

"Why did you move it?" she mumbled into the couch. "Why did you move the picture?"

"Oh." Her voice was suddenly emotionless. "That."

Claire looked around and finally realized what the problem was. The S.T.A.R.S. photograph she had noticed before was now straight in its frame. Wesker was visible at the edge of the shot, wearing his sunglasses like always. It was a bit of a shocking change, now that she had noticed it, but calling it _redecorating_ still seemed extreme.

She looked at Kirsty, who was still lying flat on her face on the couch, and wondered if she was a bit obsessive-compulsive.

"It looked _ridiculous_ the way I had it," Jill explained. She closed her eyes and added, "Besides…we were a normal team once, or at least we thought we were. If I never face those memories in their entirety, I'll never get rid of my hate…or my fear."

Kirsty looked up. "Your hate kept you strong!"

"It hurts a person to hold onto hate for so long."

Instead of answering, she let out a groan and collapsed on the couch again.

"She's tired," Leon said into the alarmed silence that followed. "She wore herself out with fake karate moves."

"Okay…" Jill didn't look entirely convinced. "Well, let's talk about our plan for tomorrow, anyway."

They all sat down, letting Kirsty have the couch to herself since it didn't look like she wanted to move. Steve pulled up his chair right next to Claire's and beamed at her. She raised her eyebrows.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "Even when I'm uncertain, the ghosts can't hurt us as long as I'm with you."

She laughed nervously and wondered if she should be hoping that no one else had heard, or that someone _had_ heard and could help.

"All right," Jill said, "are the four of us all going tomorrow, then?"

Leon nodded. "I think that would be best. I'm not sure what sorts of defenses we'll run into, so it makes sense to have the strongest force possible. It also gives us more safety if we have to split up."

"The fortress is in this country, right?" Claire asked.

"Yes. It's in the northeast, in the middle of a forest of pine trees. The trees are old and twisted, and they've grown together to block out the light above the fortress. I took a look at the door, and it looks like it opens by following the instructions given in that diary entry. The 'golem' mentioned is a statue standing guard in the forest."

"Should we meet here before heading out?" Jill asked.

They looked around at each other and agreed that it was a fine idea. A muffled noise came from Kirsty, and Claire glanced over at her.

"We attempted to teach her how to defend herself," she said, "since she'll have to stay behind."

Kirsty finally sat up and nodded, looking none too pleased about the prospect of possibly having to put her self-defense to use. However, she didn't object for once, and they finalized their plans—discussing weapons to bring, types of traps they might expect in the fortress, and strategies for bringing down their enemy.

It was time to find the host of the Control Plaga—and to find out why he was so important that the Organization had him hidden away.


	24. Chapter 24: Lost Souls

Chapter 24: Lost Souls

Leon led them through the forest, having been there before. Their plane had left early in the morning and had gotten them there in a short amount of time, but the trees blocked out light to the point where it could have been night. The path was clean and unobstructed, with only fungi growing in the darkness.

Jill held her Samurai Edge handgun in one hand; she had modified it to include a tactical light that she would use to help guide her way. A rifle was slung across her back, and she had a knife sheathed at her side, along with her pack of supplies. She walked just behind Leon, who had also fitted his handgun with a light, although he had brought along a shotgun and a rifle as well.

Claire and Steve were bringing up the rear, with Claire carrying their sole rocket launcher and Steve wielding his two favored submachine guns. He hadn't brought any light at all, but Claire had a flashlight around her neck to use if they split up.

"Here's the golem," Leon said, coming to a halt. He pointed his gun and light at the stone colossus that stood in their path.

The statue stood at least ten feet high, with stone limbs as thick as any one of them. It looked roughly human, but without distinctive features, just a blank face devoid of any emotion. The only notable thing about its face was its eye, a smooth sphere of the darkest blue. The second carved socket was empty and dark. Lines were carved into its forehead, imitating the legends of the golems' activation. In a second concession to the legends, a piece of paper was just barely visible in that stone mouth.

_Golem's eye and strong right hand / Enter the master's sacred land_. So had read the verse that supposedly explained how to enter the fortress ahead.

"So we need to take its eye and its hand?" Steve asked.

"Just the eye, I think," Leon replied. "You'll see what I mean when we reach the fortress."

Steve narrowed his eyes at him, not seeming at all pleased with that vague response. He had been acting fairly stable this morning, even spending time separated from Claire without seeming too anxious about it—although Jill suspected this was in response to Kirsty's overeager questioning of him when she had noticed his borderline obsessive need to stick close to her. As soon as they had left Kirsty behind with final instructions on self-defense, Steve had returned to his usual spot near Claire.

Still, at least he wasn't talking about ghosts. The previous night, Claire had whispered to her about how convinced he was that the ghosts were following him and how clearly and vividly he could describe them. Jill kept watching him to see if he would exhibit any of the symptoms that had been shared by Horbes and the other man.

"I'll grab the eye, if you give me a boost," Claire said, walking over to Leon.

"All right. Try to get that paper, too," he said, hoisting her up.

With him holding her up, she could reach the golem's face, and she wrenched the eye free. She grabbed the paper as well, and she called that she was ready to come down. Leon dropped into a crouch again, and Claire jumped to the ground. Steve was by her side almost immediately.

"Someone take the eye," Claire said, holding it with both hands.

"I'll take it," Jill volunteered. She accepted the sphere. It was heavier than she had expected, but she curled her arm around it and held it against her chest so that she could still hold her gun with the other hand.

Claire unfolded the note and raised her eyebrows. "Cheery people we're dealing with here," she commented. "It says, 'And the traitor asked "Why do you hate me, for have we not always followed similar paths?" His tormenter replied, "It is not hatred. It is just that I have won." And so, the serpent burned.'"

"This person's obsessed with snakes," Jill muttered. She holstered her gun temporarily and held out her free hand. "Can I have that?"

"Sure."

She took the note and put it in her pocket, planning to go over it with the others later. She had the strangest feeling that their enemy either was trying to give them clues or was so egomaniacal that he couldn't help but put pieces of his thought process in everything he designed. She remembered that Steve had said something about a serpent after he and Claire had investigated Rathbourne's grounds, and she made a mental note to ask him about that.

For now, however, she pulled out her gun again and held it ready as they continued past the golem statue. The path Leon led them along wound around a short distance further, leading them to the deepest part of the forest, where the fortress stood waiting. It looked, from the outside, like a giant rock.

The fortress had definitely been built by someone who favored practicality over style. It was a thick, squat, and ugly building, with slabs of stone that fit together neatly and gave the impression that anyone trying to break in would run out of explosives before the wall ran out of strength. Only the door broke up the appearance, and as they approached, Jill saw that it had two main features.

Near the top of the door, where many normal doors would have a small window or a peephole, it had a circular indentation the same size as the sphere she was carrying. Beneath it were two doorknockers, except that each one was in the shape of a twisted, grotesque hand. Knobbed and scabbed fingers curled around the doorknockers themselves, ending in black, pointed claws.

"First comes the eye," she said, approaching the door and hefting the blue sphere. It fit perfectly into the spot, twitching into place with an unnatural motion that made it almost seem alive. Now the door faintly resembled a dwarfed Cyclops leering at them from the stone.

"Now we need to do something with the hand," Leon said, "the right hand."

"The one on the right side of the door, or the right hand from its perspective?" Claire asked.

"Does it matter?" Steve asked, walking forward. "If we try the wrong one first, we'll just have to do it again!"

"Wait!" Jill grabbed his arm when she saw what he was going to do, but it was too late. He had already grabbed the doorknocker on the left of the door, the right hand from the perspective of the Cyclops.

His hand closed around the twisted image, lifting it up and letting it fall back against the stone. It his with a resounding _boom_ that echoed around the forest and sounded as though it could wake the dead. He continued to watch the door expectantly, but the rest of them snapped to alertness in case he had triggered a trap.

Nothing noticeably sinister happened, and the door shuddered and opened.

"See?" Steve asked, turning around. He frowned. "Why is everyone glaring at me?"

"You could have gotten us all killed!" Claire snapped. "What if you picked the wrong one and it made something bad happen?"

He shrugged. "We had to pick one, didn't we? Besides, it worked."

Then he walked through the door, and the rest of them hurried after him. The interior was lit, and Jill turned off the light on her gun. She looked around as they walked in, descending down a wide stairway that set the floor of the room at least five feet underground. The result was a large, cavernous chamber that looked like it had been carved out of stone. The walls were smooth and sanded into curves, in strange contrast to the sharp corners from the outside.

The light came from tiny lamps that had been embedded into the stone above them. The ceiling shone and sparkled, casting light down upon the rest of the room. The walls curved away from the doors until they reached the opposite side of the room, where they jutted forward to form a pillar-like wall covered in a tapestry.

The tapestry itself was a magnificent work of art, extending from the floor to the ceiling. It depicted the Earth, shrouded in flames against a backdrop of illusory shapes and impossible geometries, as if Escher had been asked to draw the solar system. Weaved throughout the burning continents was a massive serpent with iridescent skin, curling around itself in what seemed to be an attempt to double back and close the twisting shape it formed. The tapestry was perfectly fitted against the wall, showing that there was certainly a door concealed behind it.

Jill walked towards it and tried to pull it away, but it was attached so completely that there was no spot that allowed a handhold. Next she pulled out her knife, slashing at a corner near where the doorframe appeared to be. However, the material didn't so much as bend, rebuffing her knife as easily as if it were made of stone itself.

"'The serpent burned'?" Claire quoted questioningly.

Turning, Jill saw that she had gotten out a lighter that she had brought along. She stepped aside with a nod; Leon nodded his agreement as well.

Claire walked up to the tapestry and touched the flame against the corner. The material caught fire easily, almost explosively. The flames licked their way through the tapestry, meeting the image of the fire and matching it eerily. The alien background faded, the world shriveled, and strands burst free to cause the serpent to writhe as it burned. The effect was surreal and horrifying.

"If this is symbolism, it's going way over my head," Leon muttered.

Once the tapestry was nothing more than a pile of ash on the stone floor, the wooden door was entirely revealed. It led down into a chamber guarded by two men who immediately opened fire with their guns.

Fighting back, the four of them made short work of the guards, who had seemed oddly weak and slow to react to start with. Leon knelt and inspected the rifles they had been clumsily wielding. He detached something from each rifle and held them up.

"Infrared scopes," he explained. "Jill, you brought a rifle, too, right? If they were using these, we better have them ready, too."

She nodded, getting it out. He handed her one of the scopes and attached the second to his own rifle. She attached hers as well and then got her handgun back out. He looked over the bodies a final time and then frowned. He pulled a piece of paper out from one of the guards' pockets. After unfolding it and looking it over, his frown deepened, and he handed it to her with a quiet, "Well, this explains some things."

It appeared to be a report written by one of the guards.

_January 3, 2011  
><em>_Subject: Las Plagas  
><em>_Result: Success_

_ The new specimens seem to be working just as predicted. Their hosts are now more efficient and organized, so capable of imitating normal human behavior that they could blend in perfectly if it were not for the eyes. They pick up strategy easily and can be sent on certain missions alone or in small groups. The Control Plaga ensures that they can never betray us—making them a perfect army._

_ The only downside is that this form of the parasite has such a strong bond with the Control Plaga that if it were to die, the entire army might easily follow. As such, we are taking great security precautions with the Control Plaga. Our ally has been helping a great deal with this project. Betrayal from that end is the one thing we fear—but the army's loss would be such a staggering blow that we feel the partnership is secure as far as this is concerned._

_ Once everything is set up, the fortress will be locked down permanently._

"Not so permanently," Jill commented, handing the paper to Claire. Now this strange setup was starting to make sense. It seemed strange, though, that all of their security precautions hadn't been able to avoid someone writing a diary entry about the fortress. With questions remaining despite those the report had answered, she looked out at the chamber they had entered.

Now even further underground, the room they were in looked like a tomb. It was barren, and empty other than them and the two corpses, with the only light coming from the room they had just left. Each side opened onto a passage that looked even darker. Someone had—perhaps fittingly—carved _Memento Mori_ into the floor. The letters formed deep trenches.

Once Claire and Steve had read the report, the four of them walked together towards the center, stepping around the words, and a dark shape climbed out of the "_i_" in _Mori_ like a vampire emerging from its coffin. It was a tall humanoid creature with gray skin, wheezing and jerkily walking towards them. Its face was stretched open in a hideous grin that revealed long, needle-like teeth.

"This is what the scopes were for," Leon said grimly, grabbing his rifle and aiming it.

Jill followed his lead, looking through the scope. With the infrared vision, she could see the heat of the monster's body, including two wriggling bodies within it. Leon's rifle blast took out one of them, and she shot the second as the monster leaped towards them with startling speed. Its upper body exploded, and it fell down lifelessly.

"That's a Regenerador," Leon explained. "The easiest way to kill it is to take out the Plagas inside it. Watch out for the Iron Maidens; they're similar, but even worse."

"They were human once, weren't they?" Jill asked, looking down at the remains. "Humans who were experimented on."

"Yes. They were."

She sighed and turned her attention back to the most immediate matter at hand, the two passages. "We better split up. Two of us will take the left-hand path and the others will take the right-hand path. If either group encounters a dead end, return here and follow the other path."

"I'm with Claire!" Steve announced immediately.

"I don't know if that would be wise," Leon said, giving him a flat look. "Jill and I have the two rifles. We also have the most combat experience. It would make sense for one of us to be in each pair."

"Then give me your rifle," he said, folding his arms. "I'm just as good a fighter as you are!"

_Oh great,_ Jill thought. _This is all we need._

"I'm trying to be practical here," Leon said.

"Oh no you aren't," Steve argued. "You're trying to…to…" However, he seemed unable to come up with the exact words to explain just what Leon was trying to do, and he let out an annoyed growl instead.

"We don't have time to stand around arguing," Claire said. "Steve, can't you just—"

"Fine," he said, cutting her off. "I'll take the left-hand path with Jill."

That surprised her. She had expected he would want to go with Leon, either to keep _him_ away from Claire or to prove in front of him that he was just as powerful.

"All right," she said, as he walked over to her. "You two search the right-hand path and remember—if you encounter a dead end, come this way after us. If we find a dead end, we'll go after you. Good luck."

"Good luck," Leon and Claire both responded. Steve remained silent.

His silence lasted throughout their descent down the sloping passage, once again being guided by the light on her gun. At every corner, she paused and looked around with one hand on her rifle, expecting an ambush. However, there was never anything but more of the narrow, stone corridor to greet her. Finally, it ended in a door.

Jill cautiously pushed the door open and found another hallway. This one, however, had been built with in a more stylized fashion. Arches of black metal curled and looped around, coming out of every surface except the floor. After just a few steps, she knew it would be hard to move in and even harder to fight in.

"Hey," Steve said suddenly from alongside her, sounding hesitant.

She stopped and looked at him. "Yes?"

He rested his arm on a piece of metal curving out of the wall in a spiral and sighed. "Claire thinks I'm crazy. I shouldn't have told her about the ghosts. I mean, I knew, deep inside, that I shouldn't tell anyone, but I couldn't help it. I'm not making things up, Jill, you gotta believe me."

"I believe you," she said.

He blinked, looking startled. "You do?"

"Yes. I don't necessarily believe that the ghosts you're seeing are real," she explained, "but I believe that something's happening to make you see them, and that it's _not_ you going crazy."

"What do you think it is?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "but I was having strange hallucinations just the other day, and there have been at least two cases of people who seemed to be trapped in their own minds, fighting shadows that they claimed were attacking them." She made a mental note to ask Claire about the reports in the journal she had discovered. They could be key to understanding this. She stepped around an expanse of metallic flowers and indicated that Steve should follow. "Come on, we have to keep going."

They had walked a little further when the sound of strained, ragged breathing met their ears. Jill backed up and readied her rifle, nearly tripping over Steve when he tried to go ahead to see what was happening. She got behind one of the swirling metal designs to use it for cover and waited.

The humanoid figure finally came around the corner, walking slowly and twitching rapidly. This one was also gray, with a gaping mouth taking up most of its face, but spikes stuck out of its skin everywhere, giving the disturbing impression that its spasms and strained breathing were from pain.

_This must be the Iron Maiden,_ she thought grimly, as she looked through the infrared scope of the rifle.

She could see four of the Plagas this time. She shot the first one, and the monster let out a groan. Undeterred, she moved on to the next. Once she had destroyed all four Plagas, she lowered the rifle—and froze, because it hadn't fallen yet and it was getting closer.

Steve let out a yell and started blasting it with his submachine guns. It continued advancing anyway, until his shots took off one of its legs. The Iron Maiden fell to the ground, still twitching. It started crawling towards them, proving to crawl much faster than it walked.

Jill started to raise her rifle again, but it was too close. She pulled out the handgun instead, firing and stepping away from the seeking arms of the spike-impaled monster. The odd metal decorations of the hall now formed a trap, as she found herself backed against the wall, unable to move very far in any direction.

_What is he doing?_ she wondered, because he had stopped firing. She couldn't see where he had gone, and she felt a stab of panic that he had fled. Since the handgun was having little effect, she pulled out her knife, prepared to slice it the minute it got within range.

Without warning, the thing caught on fire, screeching and groaning as it burned. The flames reared up in front of her, and she lifted her arm to shield her face from the heat. The monster exploded as the fire consumed it, sending spikes flying everywhere. One caught her arm and scratched it, but that was the least of her concerns at the moment. She was safe from the monster, but she was still trapped.

Acting on impulse, Jill jumped through the flames, twisting so that she could drop into a roll and use the stone hallway in front of her to put out her burning clothes. She had tucked herself in to hide as much skin as she could, but she still felt her hand blistering when she emerged.

A safe distance away, she looked up to see Steve staring at the fire. "What happened?" she asked, reaching into her supply pack for a first aid spray to take care of her cut and burn. She sat down and got to work.

"I don't know," he said listlessly. He watched her as she treated her injuries. "Why would I know?"

Hearing the defensive edge to his tone, she looked at him carefully. "I wasn't suggesting you did it." She had been wondering if Iron Maidens could spontaneously combust, or if she had triggered some sort of deathtrap in the hallway. She stood back up and smiled. "What, have you got a flamethrower along with those guns?"

"No." He looked down at the ground. "One of the effects of the T-Veronica virus, after adaptation, was the ability to…throw fire, or something like that."

"So you were afraid I was going to accuse you of using hidden powers from the virus?" she asked, regarding him curiously.

"No!" he said, a little too quickly. "It's just…well, Claire says everyone would help me if something went wrong, but with the ghosts and me being missing for so long and everything, she has a tendency to look at me like…like…"

"Like you might blow up?" she finished dryly.

"Yes." Steve looked at her in surprise. "How did you know?"

"I got some looks like that, from people who didn't understand what had happened, after I—" She cut herself off, remembering that he didn't know what had happened to her, but it was too late.

"After what?" he asked, looking at her with wide eyes.

She looked at him, seeing the hope and worry in his face, and then she sighed. It couldn't hurt to tell him, and it just might help him. "Come on," she said, "let's keep going. I'll tell you as we walk."

"All right."

They continued their way down the odd hallway, keeping alert for any sign of monsters. As they walked, Jill told him the basics of what had happened to her—her sacrificial attack on Wesker to keep him from killing Chris, the experiments that had forever changed her appearance while aiding Wesker's doomsday plan, his discovery of the P30 drug, and the years she had spent under his control as a result.

"So when I got back, at first I made the mistake of telling _everyone_ what had happened. I thought it would help them understand why I sometimes broke down, why certain phrases or questions had such a bad effect on me, and why I was more paranoid and phobic than I had ever been, even after Raccoon City. But some didn't understand at all. Some seemed to think that I might just snap some day, or that there might still be some…_residue_…"

She thought about her own recent worries that she was somehow still under his control, but she didn't add that part.

"Have you ever felt…obsessive-compulsive?" Steve asked, hesitating slightly.

She glanced over at him. His face was unreadable. "I've had moments of panic when I wasn't in control of the situation, but nothing else similar to that that I can think of. Why?"

He shrugged. "I just thought I'd ask. I keep feeling these odd, irrational urges. Like, everything's going to go completely wrong, but as long as I do certain things—things that make no sense, except that I _know_ they're what I have to do—it'll be okay."

"That does sound like it could be obsessive-compulsive disorder," she agreed. In fact, she wasn't entirely certain where he had made the connection in the conversation. Was he equating the compulsions with being controlled? "Do you want to talk about them?"

She didn't press him for an answer, letting him think while they walked. She knew from experience that sometimes it felt good to talk about such problems, while other times it was just too painful. They reached the end of the hallway, and she opened the door.

They stepped through into a huge stone cavern, and Steve caught her arm. "There also are…things I know, and I don't know why. Things like—" A new voice cut him off, however, greeting them.

"You're here. Good. I was starting to worry I'd starve to death before anyone came to hunt me down."

* * *

><p><em>Note: By now you've probably all seen or at least heard about the RE6 announcement. Well, as you've probably guessed, this means that canon and I have officially parted ways. I hope that doesn't mean you'll be discouraged and stop reading. ;)<br>__And keep up the theories! Your interest in this story is wonderful!_


	25. Chapter 25: The Control Plaga

Chapter 25: The Control Plaga

Claire followed Leon down the second passage, her mind still spinning from what had just happened with Steve. For a minute there, she had thought there was going to be a fight, and she still wasn't sure what the catalyst had been. It wasn't as though she minded his company, but she was becoming increasingly convinced that his desire to be with her was based too heavily on his irrational idea that he had to stay by her side to make everything all right.

_What did they do to him?_ she wondered. _And why, _why_ would something the Organization did have such an odd effect?_

She hoped she was reading too much into it. It could be nothing more than an idea his mind had created to cope with the ghosts he was seeing. She couldn't help but remember, however, that he had said it was during the long dream after his death that he realized everything would be fine once he found her.

That obsession, the ghosts themselves, and the missing memories for those thirteen years all seemed to tie together and point back to the Organization. That made her nervous. Outwardly, he seemed unscathed by what had happened to him, but she didn't like to think that they had harmed his mind.

_While attacks on the body only have so much power as long as the mind can resist, attacks on the mind are much, much worse…_

A chill ran through her as she remembered Kirsty's words.

"You all right?" Leon asked.

She nodded. The stone hallway they were walking through didn't offer much in the way of scenery, but at least it was quiet. The only sounds were those of their breathing and their footsteps as they walked along. They both were using their lights to illuminate the way.

"I'm just worried about Steve," she said softly.

"I'm worried about this whole mess."

She glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"First the Organization attacks in what seems to be a wild show of power, containing every attack before it could get out of hand. Now, they're all but silent. Then Barry is kidnapped but escapes almost immediately, and Steve shows up with no memory of what happened. Now we're being attacked. I feel like those early attacks were bait—they expended their resources to draw us out, and now they're working to pick us off."

Claire shook her head. "That doesn't make any sense. Why go through all that trouble just to bring us together? Why not use those resources to attack us separately, when we couldn't support one another?" She frowned. "And about Barry and Steve—why wouldn't the Organization just kill them while they were in their power, instead of returning them to us first?"

"Maybe they aren't trying to kill us," he said in a dark tone.

She looked over at him quickly. His brow was furrowed, as if he was trying to work something out. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that there's a lot happening that doesn't make sense," he answered, "and I'm starting to wonder if that's the point. Steve sees things. Jill—you know she's been having trouble. Chris, Barry, and Sheva were attacked—they weren't killed, but the attacks have made us feel vulnerable. What will we do if Kirsty is attacked while we're gone? We'll be afraid to leave anyone undefended. And Josh—they've managed to keep him just at the point where he can't feel safe. It's like they're just waiting to strike. What we're doing here makes me uneasy, too. If their army is dependent on the Control Plaga, why would the clues we needed be left lying around?"

"You think they're deliberately weakening us," she said, "playing games the way a cat plays with a mouse. But why?"

"Revenge?" he suggested.

Further debate on the topic was cut off by the shuffling, wheezing approach of a Regenerador at the end of the long hallway they were traversing. With enough room and a clear view, Claire aimed the rocket launcher she had brought and fired a single shot. The monster exploded.

However, another one appeared right behind it, jerkily making its way towards them. Leon had his rifle ready in a second, taking down the Plagas in its body and destroying it before it could get close.

They looked at each other and nodded, proceeding with caution now that they had seen enemies. However, the rest of the hallway was clear, and they reached a door at the end without being impeded further. Leon stood to one side of the door and readied his handgun.

Claire opened the door while he covered her, and a dog burst through from the area beyond, snarling and snapping at her. He took it out with a single shot, and she stepped away as the body fell. She looked through and, seeing no further enemies, stepped through the door. She froze. This area looked like it had been built with nothing but a deathtrap in mind.

There was a platform at the edge of the door, where she was standing, and several scattered throughout. However, the majority of this "room" had no floor, opening onto dark depths below. She couldn't see the bottom. Narrow rope bridges extended from platform to platform. They were complex and yet simple—other than posts set on each platform, there was no wood used in their construction, and yet the overlapping ropes provided something to stand on. Some were old and frayed, and others looked like they had nails and sharps of glass built into them as an added defense.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," she muttered.

She suddenly realized that Leon hadn't followed her. Looking back, she saw that he was kneeling by the body of the dog, frowning at it. She walked back to him and gave him a questioning look.

"Notice anything unusual?" he asked, indicating the body.

She took a look at it and slowly shook her head. "No. It's just a dog."

"Exactly."

She frowned at him and then looked back at it. She suddenly realized exactly what he meant. It _was_ just a dog, a normal dog. It had attacked her as viciously as any monster, but it didn't look like it was infected with anything. Yet she couldn't imagine that it had somehow gotten in here by accident.

"What does it mean?" she whispered.

"Remember what Kirsty said about our true enemy working from the shadows? I think he's trying to tell us something."

"Well, we're failing to receive his message," she muttered. She looked at the dog and tried to imagine it as a normal animal. It must have been one, before it had been trapped in here. Had it attacked them because they were strangers, or because being confined in the deathtrap cavern had made it insane? "Then again, it's certainly throwing us off balance."

"What's the next area like?" Leon asked, getting up.

She grimaced. "Not the most charming of places, I can tell you that."

They walked through the doorway together and looked out across the expanse of bridges and platforms ahead of them. Far from making it better, seeing it a second time made it look worse. Now she was able to pick out all of the little details, such as the number of places even in the bridge just ahead of them where she would be unable to hold on or step in certain places.

"Well, let's get this over with," Leon said. Gripping his gun tightly, he started across the first bridge.

_If anything attacks us here, we're dead,_ she couldn't help but think, as she followed him, taking care to not step on any dangerous sections.

Being on the bridge made her even uneasier. To watch her footing, she had to look down and see that seemingly bottomless pit. She wondered how far it really was to the bottom, and she hoped she wouldn't have to find out. The bridge swayed with every step, and with two of them creeping across it at once, it shook so much that she found herself reaching out to grab the ropes on the side whenever she could. Far too often, however, the rope was lined with glistening, sharp specks, and she had to lift her hands and focus on keeping her balance.

Twenty steps. That was how far they had gone so far. She hadn't realized she was counting until she consciously thought the number. Looking ahead, she guessed they had made it about halfway across. Twenty steps to go. She wondered if Steve and Jill had encountered anything similar.

Her stomach lurched as she realized they would likely have to return the same way they had come. They would have to cross these bridges not once, but twice. Yet, as the place was not actively trying to kill them, it seemed so pointless to have something like this inside the fortress. It would be dangerous to enemies and allies alike.

_Is he right? Are they playing twisted games with us?_

Distracted, she didn't see the gap in the ropes beneath her. Her foot plunged through and she cried out, grabbing the ropes to her side instinctually. Fragments of glass dug into her hands, but she hung on doggedly as her blood stained the ropes red. Her foot was stuck, hanging in the air above the pit.

She used her grip to try to push herself up, but to her horror, she only succeeded in pushing the ropes down. The bridge creaked and stretched.

"Let me help," Leon said, having turned around at the sound of her cry. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her up; her foot came free and sent them staggering forward.

The bridge swayed alarmingly, threatening to throw them off. She held her breath, not daring to move. Leon also remained completely still, straightening up only when the bridge calmed its shudders.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes. You?"

"I'm fine. Let's keep moving."

They reached the first platform without further setbacks, although Claire chose her steps even more carefully. She restricted her thoughts to the matter at hand, not willing to be distracted again.

At the second platform, they stopped for a rest. From there they would have to take the next bridge to the right, and she could see three more bridges that would need to be crossed before reaching the room's other door. She wondered just how vast this fortress was, in contrast to the squat structure that could be seen aboveground.

_They built down…and out._

"You know, I didn't mean to make Steve angry," Leon said, as she picked the pieces of broken glass out of her hands and cleaned the wounds. "I didn't think he would react like that."

"He always was impulsive," she said.

He gave her a curious look. "You say that as if you've known him for a very long time."

She bandaged her hands and then looked at him. "Well, I suppose it's hard to not count those thirteen years. I thought about him so often it was as if I knew him."

"I wish you had known him for those years," he said, "or at least known what was happening to him."

Claire studied the serious expression on his face, not liking his tone. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing, really. It's just that Chris, Barry, and Sheva were all attacked by someone who had to get close without attracting attention…and Steve has the most suspicious of circumstances."

"He wouldn't betray us!" she snapped.

"I didn't say he did it of his own free will. He could have been 'persuaded' to work against us, by the Organization…or by those ghosts he sees."

"He's _fighting_ the ghosts," she reminded him, "and if he was in some sort of trouble, he'd have told us. He would know better than to keep something like that a secret! Whoever it is behind the attacks, it's not Steve!"

Leon regarded her impassively for a moment, and then he turned towards the bridge. "Let's go."

She followed him, clenching her fists out of anger. It was all she could do to keep her attention on the bridge and not dwell on what he had just suggested. He had to be crazy if he thought Steve would betray them—betray _her_. No matter what might be happening inside his mind, she knew he would never do anything to hurt her.

A_ttacks on the body only have so much power as long as the mind can resist…_

What had Kirsty _meant_ by that? Was she saying that someone being physically injured, tortured, or even controlled had an advantage as long as they had the will to resist? Whereas attacks on the mind…took away that resistance?

Trying to ignore that horrifying thought, she turned her attention back to the bridge. She didn't want another incident like the last one. Steve would be fine. She had promised to help him with any problems that arose, and she would do so.

Then, with the bridge swaying and stretching beneath her, a noise caught her attention. It was a very quiet, small noise—the distant _snap_ of a rope breaking free behind them. She turned and saw the second frayed rope attaching them to the platform start to fall apart, with them just over halfway across.

"Run!" she shouted, breaking into a sprint.

Leon didn't look back and didn't question her. He started running, and together they charged across the wobbling bridge as the piece behind them rapidly broke away from its supports. Now every step seemed to bounce them into the air, and with every stride, Claire was sure she was going to be thrown over the side to her doom. There was no time to grab the sides for support now, not with it lurching down with each passing second.

The final rope snapped free, and the bridge shot downwards in a deadly arch. Claire fell backwards, grabbing the ropes she had been walking across with desperate hands. She clung to them, hanging in the air, while Leon scrabbled for a handhold of his own. To her relief, he got one, even as he looked over his shoulder to make sure she was still there.

In tense silence, they climbed the rest of the way, the bridge now acting as a ladder. Leon's feet disappeared over the top of the platform, and then he turned around to help her up as well.

Claire climbed up and looked back at the now-unreachable platform they had come from. There would be no going back.

"This is bad," she said.

Leon nodded in grim agreement. "All we can do now is keep going forward and hope there's a different way we can take later."

They rested again, but this time there was no conversation.

As if to mock their uneasiness, the rest of the bridges seemed almost stable by comparison. They still swayed with every step, but there were only a few deadly gaps, almost manageable handholds, and only the slightest of frayed sections. And there, waiting for them at the end, was a large door made of glistening black metal, lit up by tiny lamps embedded in the stone around it.

xXx

Beyond the door was a very strange scene. Here, the ceiling vaulted up in high arches and twisting shapes. More of the strange lamps cast light down on them, affixed to the ceiling in a pattern that resembled the night sky. The walls had been carved into and painted on, in strange designs and murals. The tools and paints were still sitting in the far corner. On the wall opposite Claire and Leon was another door. Steve and Jill stood in front of it, weapons raised but uncertain looks on their faces. The object of their attention was the person sitting on the floor in the center of the room, who was speaking to them.

"That was a joke, you must understand. I do not think it could happen, even if I waited a hundred years." She tilted her head, as if realizing that two more had entered the room, and then she turned towards them and regarded them curiously.

Claire stared back at the small, slender woman waiting for them here, at the heart of the fortress. She looked childlike, with wide blue eyes and black hair carefully combed away from her face. A smile played across her lips, and she blinked slowly, as if not sure what to make of her visitors. A dark robe clothed her, making her limbs look even smaller than they were. Despite all of that, there was something odd about her features—a strangeness that made her age hard to determine.

"Four of you," the girl said, clapping her thin hands together. "Excellent. I have waited so long now."

"This is the person we came to…find?" Claire asked, changing the final word from _kill_ at the last moment.

It was the girl herself who answered. "Of course. I control Las Plagas, after all." She met her gaze and smiled. "Now that their loyalty has been completely transferred and there will soon be no need for more, you were sent to destroy me."

"No one sent us," Jill said. "We tracked down your location and came on our own."

She didn't argue, but merely smiled again. "Shall we begin?"

"No," Leon answered, frowning at her. "This doesn't have to end in death. You can bring forth the mutation when you will it, can't you? Don't do it."

The girl cocked her head towards him, seeming surprised, and then she laughed. "Are these the mighty defenders the world sends against us? Perhaps you are not so powerful after all, no matter what I may have heard."

"We can be strong without wishing for bloodshed," Jill said.

"Can you? But you came here to stop me. I must oppose you. There is no other way."

"Isn't there?" Steve asked. His voice sounded strained.

She looked around at all of them and spread her arms out. "I see three possibilities as to why you are objecting. First, you think I am a child. I am not. Second, you object to the destruction of my humanity due to the mutation." She shrugged. "The experiments ravaged my body beyond recognition. There is little more that can be done to me. Third, you are weak." Her arms fell to her side and her smile vanished. "In that case, this will be an unexpected victory."

"The experiments? What did they do to you?" Jill asked, at the same time that Leon demanded, "You said the loyalty of Las Plagas had been transferred? How? To whom?"

The girl looked between them slowly and shook her head. "My, my, I hardly know who to answer first. Besides, answering your questions would be a terrible breach of loyalty."

"Loyalty?" Claire asked. "To people who have kept you locked away inside this mad fortress?"

The tiny woman looked at her steadily. "Yes." And then she began to change. Her limbs twisted, exploding into scaled, oddly plant-like masses with vicious, shimmering claws. Bladed tentacles burst from her as her body grew, twisting her into an abomination to haunt dreams and stalk the night. Last to change was her face, still split in that strangely childlike smile before collapsing in on itself and becoming a bulbous, pulsating sphere; her hair stood on end for a second before growing into fine, wiggling feelers.

Claire jumped back and yelled in spite of herself, getting the rocket launcher ready. She could hardly believe her own eyes, that that delicate-looking person had changed into so horrific a monster.

Tentacles crashed towards them, trying to crush them. Claire and Leon dove in opposite directions as one crashed down where they had been standing, cracking the stone. He shot at the tentacle as it withdrew, and a spasm went through the monster as blood splashed up.

She studied the creature, trying to see a weak spot. She didn't want to waste her rocket launcher's ammunition on a place where it was well protected. If it had to happen this way, she wanted to get the battle over with. She aimed carefully, searching. As part of the strategy they had previously agreed on, the others attacked it to draw its fire away from her, so that she could set up her shot.

"Steve, move!" Jill screamed from the other end of the room.

Claire whirled around and saw that Steve was standing motionless, not heeding the tentacles crashing towards him. His mouth was moving, as though he was whispering something to himself. Her heart stopped beating for a moment as he stared ahead into almost certain death without budging, and then Jill grabbed him and pulled him out of the way.

He stumbled and seemed to return to himself at last. He looked at her and then turned, running across the length of the room until he reached Claire. She dodged an attack and looked at him.

"I'll cover you!" he shouted.

Jill and Leon were already doing a fine job of protecting her, but she knew that was the last thing she should say. He really wanted to help, and now was not the time to deny him that feeling.

"Thanks," she said, raising the rocket launcher again.

That bulbous growth seemed to be the place to aim; it had once been the host's head and now it beat like an overgrown heart. It was twisted away from them, as though the monster knew to protect itself, but when it leaned in for an attack, it was momentarily exposed. It would need perfect timing.

"Draw its attacks a little closer to me!" she urged, and Leon and Jill moved closer.

They both were using their rifles, aiming for the same area that she had noticed. Each successful shot drew forth a spray of yellow liquid and a screech from the monster. Steve was aiming for its tentacles and arms, wounding it and forcing back its attacks. As the four of them got closer together, its weak point became more visible to her with each attack.

It was attacking very strangely. She never felt like she was in immediate danger; it was as if the job the others were doing was working too well. They had to dodge attacks, and Steve's shooting deflected several attacks, but many of the monster's strikes seemed like they would have been near misses even if they had all stood still.

_Another game?_ she wondered, thinking back to her cat and mouse analogy. There was no time to focus on that now, however.

She waited, fingers ready. Finally, the bloated segment of pulsing flesh was in view, and she fired. The rocket shot forward, hitting its target with a spray of yellow. A terrible shriek came from the monster, and its clawed limbs twisted and clutched at nothing. The tentacles wriggled, as if in desperation, and then the creature was still.

The four of them stood there for a moment, staring at it. She still felt dazed from the strangeness of the encounter. Looking around at the others, she sensed they felt the same.

"We can't go back the way we came," Leon finally said, breaking the silence. "Part of our path was cut off."

"Our way is fine," Jill answered.

They left the fortress quietly, with no further traps waiting to be sprung. Claire stared at the twisted metal in the hallway they now walked through, and did a double-take at the charred remains of what once had been a monster, but she didn't ask what had happened. Everyone seemed subdued.

_Their loyalty has been completely transferred,_ she remembered. _Does that mean we did all this for nothing?_ She thought about the report they had found earlier. _Has the Organization's chessmaster betrayed them after all?_

Feeling disturbed by such thoughts, she didn't say a word for the entire trip back to the entrance. Once they had climbed the stairs and emerged into the dark forest, however, she caught Jill's arm and let the other two get out of earshot before starting to walk again.

"When you pulled Steve away from the monster," she asked quietly, "was he saying something?"

"Yes." Jill's eyes went to him, walking ahead of them, and her brow furrowed. "It must have been in response to what you had asked the girl."

"What?" She had been expecting something related to the ghosts again. "Why?"

"He was just repeating the same thing to himself, over and over: 'Loyalty.'"


	26. Chapter 26: The First Line of Defense

Chapter 26: The First Line of Defense

"So now we have to ask ourselves—did we accomplish anything yesterday?" Jill rubbed her forehead. "That girl made it sound like the Organization wanted us to go after her."

"It doesn't make a lot of sense," Leon muttered.

They were all gathered in her living room once again. She was sitting on the couch, alongside Claire and Steve, although she had considered moving several times. The atmosphere between them was tense, like a storm was about to break out. Each kept glancing at the other before speaking. For her own part, she found it hard to look at Steve and keep her expression normal; his increasingly strange behavior was making her uneasy.

Leon was leaning back in one of the chairs, and in the seat across from him, Kirsty was sitting with her legs curled beneath her. The first few minutes of their meeting had been a review of what had happened the previous day, for her benefit.

"When she said their loyalty was being transferred," Claire said, with a quick glance in Steve's direction at the word _loyalty_, "did she mean someone else has a Control Plaga? But if so, why use her at all? Why protect her with a fortress only to kill her?"

It seemed that she, at least, had accepted the explanation that the Organization had somehow _sent_ them to destroy the Control Plaga's host. Jill wasn't entirely convinced. There had to have been a better way to do that than to hope they stumbled upon the correct diary page and interpreted the instructions.

"I see three possibilities," Kirsty said. She raised a finger for each point. "One, the girl worked directly for either the Organization or one of their allies, and the other group is working to transfer the loyalty of the demon warriors more completely to them. Two, she was considered to be a threat for some other reason. Or three, she was to wait there until someone found her and claim they had been sent after her, to trick them into thinking they had been manipulated."

"That last one sounds in line with our mysterious enemy," Leon commented.

Jill hoped they wouldn't have anything to do right after this meeting. She needed to sit down in the peace of her library and make a list of everything that had happened. Kirsty was supposedly analyzing the events, but she was coming to no conclusions. Yet there had to be an answer, a way it all fit together.

"Or _four_," Kirsty added, lifting another finger, "a combination of two of the three possibilities."

"Or five, none of the above," Steve muttered. He looked over at Claire to see if she would react.

"No matter what it was," Jill said, "I don't think it's going to help us find the Organization."

"We know who they are," Kirsty reminded her. "G.P.C."

"We have no proof," Claire said.

"Give them enough rope, and they will hang themselves."

_And just how much rope do they need? They've been causing enough mayhem, and we haven't found them yet._

"We will stop them!" Kirsty insisted. "We have to. We won't let more people go through what happened to m—I mean, we won't let those scientists harm innocent people!" She flushed as she finished and looked away quickly.

Jill eyed her, wondering what that momentary slip had been about. They still didn't know what had motivated her to join the B.S.A.A. Had _she_ been a test subject of the Organization once?

_I can't ask. Not until I'm willing to tell her what Wesker did to me._

"I still can't find Ada," Leon said. "She's completely disappeared. That," he added, "should be proof enough that she isn't truly working for the Organization any more. She's hiding from them."

_Unless she's hiding from _you, Jill thought, but she didn't say it out loud. Finding Ada would help them track down the Organization, one way or another. There was no harm in believing that she was an ally until they found her. Leon was smart enough to be on guard for treachery, even from her—or maybe especially from her.

"What about Sherry Birkin?" Kirsty asked. Silence greeted her words, and her eyebrows twitched upwards. "Did you forget that she was the only target that got away? Surely that makes her valuable enough to find and protect."

Claire lowered her head and stared down at her hands. "I forgot. I can't believe I forgot about her!"

"It's okay," Kirsty said with a kind smile. "Anyone can forget someone once, especially when a lot is going on. I wouldn't make a habit of it, though."

Claire lowered her head further, and Jill gave Kirsty a sharp look. Most likely she had no idea that Claire had rescued Sherry in the past only to leave her to go looking for Chris, but that comment still had to have hurt.

"What? What did I say?"

Not certain if she should explain or not, Jill looked across the room to Leon for help, but then the phone rang. She got up and hurried towards it, hoping it wasn't bad news. It seemed like no one ever called just to chat these days.

She picked up the phone in the middle of its second ring. "Hello?"

"Hello, is that you? This is me!" a panicked voice shouted unhelpfully on the other end.

She eyed the phone dubiously and wished she had caller I.D.

"This is Dr. Jones!" the voice yelped.

"Dr. Jones?" she asked, suddenly alarmed. "This is Jill. Is something wrong? Did something happen to Chris, or to Barry or Sheva?"

"No, nothing happened to them!" A scream came from somewhere in the background. "Not yet, at least."

"What's going on?"

"The T-virus!" he cried. He sounded like he was about ready to burst into tears. "One of the staff came in and was infecting people before we knew what was going on! I'm on the second floor trying to keep it contained. Your friends have marshaled the defense on the first floor, but I need help!"

"Calm down," she said, even though her own heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest. She didn't feel remotely calm. She now realized that this had been one of her worst fears when seeing her friends confined to hospital beds—that someone might choose to strike then, while they were still weakened. "We're on our way."

"Thank you. Please, hurry!"

She hung up the phone and raced to get equipped for combat. "The T-virus has broken out at the hospital," she shouted to the others.

"What?" Claire cried, but other than that, no one spoke as they rushed to get prepared. There was no time to discuss what happened; this was a time to act, and act fast.

"I'll call for backup!" Steve shouted, the blood draining from his face as he charged past her to get at the phone.

_Stay safe, Chris,_ she thought desperately, as she made sure her gun was loaded. Dr. Jones had said they were defending the first floor while he was holding back the outbreak on the second. That had to mean Chris and the others were doing all right, still able to defend themselves at least. But there would be other people, more vulnerable patients, who might not even know what was happening.

Steve finished shouting directions to the hospital into the phone—she wasn't sure he had even said what the problem was—and slammed it down. Stumbling away, he started grabbing his own equipment, but his face was so white she thought he might collapse.

"Maybe you should stay here with Kirsty," she said, catching his arm.

"No!" He pulled free and ran to Claire's side. "I'm going."

There wasn't enough time to argue with him. She had grabbed everything she thought she might need, not wasting time double-checking that she hadn't forgotten anything. The situation was too dire. She ran for the door with the others, shouting that they could take her car. She knew she had grabbed her keys.

_How dare you attack a hospital, you freak?_ she thought angrily at the mysterious figure who seemed to be guiding the Organization's movements.

"Wait!" It was Kirsty, running after them. Her eyes were wide and she looked panicked. "I'm going with you!"

"It's going to be dangerous," Leon said.

"Please!" She grabbed Jill's arm. "I know I can't fight, but there has to be something I can do to help! I _can't_ just stay back here and do nothing! I can help maintain the quarantine! You know, like I'll say consoling things to people who want to leave!"

"Yeah, you're so good at consoling people," Claire muttered.

"We don't have time to argue!" Jill cried. She stared Kirsty in the face, although the other woman glanced away to avoid eye contact. "Come if you must, but only if you know what you're getting into. You might never come back."

xXx

The hospital was in chaos. The entrances were guarded by strained-looking police officers, who let them in as soon as they realized who they were. From there, they—the five of them—ran through the bloodstained lobby into a nightmare. Screams came from the waiting room, as zombies advanced on the cowering people.

Leon ran towards them, firing upon the zombies. Claire darted past him to help the survivors, and Steve followed a split second later.

"Come on!" Jill shouted, pulling Kirsty with her down the hall. "We'll get you up to the second floor!" Her hope was that Dr. Jones would be able to let her up to the third floor, so that Kirsty could reassure people in a non-combat zone while the rest of them fought.

Bodies lay in the doorways, and they had to splash through puddles of blood to get by, but she didn't recognize any of the dead. They passed Sheva's room, and Jill looked in quickly. It was empty, but there was no sign of a struggle.

_Your friends have marshaled the defense._

Kirsty screamed as a zombie came out of one of the hospital rooms, groaning as it saw them. Jill felled it with a single shot from her handgun, getting it straight through the brain. She looked to make sure her companion was all right and saw that the other woman was pale but looked better than many people would under the same circumstances.

_What _did_ you go through in the past?_

Passing Barry's room, Jill looked in and saw that it also was empty. Again, there was no sign of a struggle. She couldn't help but wonder how two people still recovering from a bad car accident could be defending a hospital. They continued, and she realized that without consciously deciding to, she had taken the long way—the path that would take them past Chris's room before they reached the elevator or stairs.

They rounded the corner at the end of the hall, and a group of three zombies staggered towards them. She shot one, but the second grabbed her. She grappled with it, forcing it away from her just as the third attacked. She heard Kirsty scream. Jill kicked the zombie away from her and shot the second, which was coming forward for another try.

The fight was over quickly after that, but when she looked around, she saw that she was alone. Kirsty was nowhere to be seen.

_She must have fled when the zombies attacked me._

Jill cursed under her breath and started running again. With any luck, the woman wouldn't try to get to the second floor on her own. She'd find a safe place to shelter until Jill reached her.

She slowed slightly when she passed Chris's room, and then did a double take upon seeing that it was full of people. Patients, in chairs, on the floor, or even lying on litters and stretchers, were crammed into the room. Two nurses, an administrator, and a doctor were also there, bleeding and bandaged. At the front of the room was a pile of bodies, clearly zombies that had tried to get in to the survivors.

In the center of it all was Chris, sitting on the bed in the center. He looked ridiculous, aiming a shotgun at the door while still wearing a green hospital gown, but the image was somehow so heroic at the same time that Jill didn't feel an urge to laugh.

"Chris! You're all right!"

"Jill!" he shouted. He lowered the gun slightly. "How did you know to come?"

"Dr. Jones called me," she explained. She looked in at his band of survivors and saw, to her dismay, that she didn't recognize anyone. "You haven't seen Kirsty, have you?"

"Yes, she walked by here." He frowned. "I called out to her, but she didn't stop."

"Thanks."

Jill started down the hall again. So, Kirsty was probably making her way upstairs anyway. She picked up her pace. It wasn't much further to the elevator.

When she turned the next corner to make her way towards the elevator, she saw a zombie milling around. It noticed her and started running with a groan. She lifted her gun, but the zombie fell before she had a chance to shoot it.

Past the fallen zombie, she saw Sheva standing. She was leaning on crutches, but she still had a gun in one hand. Beside her, a man crouched by the elevator doors. A toolkit was by his side, and Jill could see wires everywhere.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"The elevator is stuck," Sheva said. "A group of people is trapped on it, although we think no one infected was among them."

"Do you need help?"

"No, we've got the first floor fairly well defended. I think Dr. Jones needs help on the second floor, though."

"Yeah, he's the one who called us."

"Incidentally," Sheva said, "Kirsty just passed. She's on her way upstairs, too."

Jill grimaced. "Thanks. I better find her before she gets killed."

She had made it through several more bloody, abandoned areas and fought off three more zombies, before she finally neared the stairs. An alarm started going off somewhere else in the building, and she could hear someone at one of the entrances shouting that they were being overrun and needed help.

She was too far to be able to get there in time. She hoped one of the others would be able to help. A door to the side burst open, and she lifted her gun, ready to shoot. However, it wasn't a zombie.

Racing out of the room on a motorized wheelchair was Barry, with a rifle on his lap. He stopped when he saw her. "All right, reinforcements!"

She grinned. "Looking good, Barry!"

"Don't worry about things here, Jill," he said, giving her a thumbs-up. "No zombie can stand up to the Motorized Maniac!"

And with that, he zoomed down the hallway, taking that thing faster than the companies could ever have intended them to go. She stared after him for a moment. A door down the hall opened as he approached, but the zombie barely got two steps out before being blasted back by the rifle.

Shaking her head, Jill finally made her way to the stairs. The first floor was certainly in good hands. If the rest of the defense was going half as well, the Organization would rue the day they ever decided to the send the T-virus against the hospital.

She raced up the stairs, opened the door to the second floor, and nearly collided with someone. She took a step back and looked up, taking another step away when she realized what she was seeing. It was her phantom plague doctor, menacing in black and blocking the way to the hall. One foot lifted to kick her down the stairs.

Jill dashed to the side, diving under her adversary's arms to come at her from behind. She tried to grab her, but the cloaked figure whirled around and batted her arms away, swinging a punch at her as she did so.

_This is ridiculous_, she thought, as she dodged the blow. She could hear shouts of fear and pain from elsewhere on the floor, and there wasn't enough time to mess around like this. She raised her gun. "Stop this now!"

Her opponent dropped to the ground and rolled, jumping up again on the other side. Jill gave up on trying to negotiate and spun around, firing at her. One shot hit home as she tried to dodge, and blood soaked the shoulder of the dark cloak.

Jill ran at her then, planning to pin her against the wall. Her enemy turned and started to run, looking for a second as though she were going to run straight up the wall—a move Jill almost expected to see. Instead, however, she merely kicked off of it, using the sudden change in direction to throw her off guard.

Recovering quickly, she chased the cloaked woman as she darted suddenly for the end of the hall. But there was nothing there, only a window, and Jill was sure she had her at last. She increased her speed, realizing suddenly that there was one major difference between her past self and its current doppelganger, and that was that this masked woman was no faster or stronger than a regular person.

She paused as she reached the window, seeming to hesitate. Jill closed in, wincing as she heard further cries. The screams were so horrible that it sounded like someone was being tortured. She hoped Kirsty was still alive.

_People are dying because you've delayed me here,_ she thought at her adversary as she approached, _whoever you really are._

The cloaked figure's head lifted, as though to look at something over Jill's shoulder. Then she jumped suddenly, diving through the glass and out the window. Jill lunged to try to grab her, even as she looked behind her to see what had gotten her adversary's attention. She could see nothing.

And the screams had stopped.

That was chilling enough that she began running down the hall instead, leaving her opponent behind. Whoever or whatever that was, it wasn't as important as protecting these people.

The good feeling the defense of the first floor had left her with quickly evaporated as she walked through the second floor. Zombies were everywhere, some that she shot and others that she just dodged. Corpses, mostly of patients, lay in the entrances to their rooms. She saw no sign of Kirsty, and her stomach began to twist in fear.

She reached an intersection, where the hallway divided. Doors normally blocked both areas, but one door had been torn from its hinges. A chill ran through her, and she ran through the gap. Up ahead, the stairs to the third floor were clearly marked by a sign, and the makeshift barricade in front of them didn't look like it had been breached.

A white-coated body lay crumpled against the wall beside it.

"Dr. Jones!" she cried in horror, running over and kneeling by him. She could hear thin, strained breathing coming from him. The back of his head was a bloody mess, having been smashed in. His limbs lay uselessly, broken and pulled from their sockets. His body was twisted into an impossible position; it was a miracle he was still alive at all.

She turned him as gently as she could, seeing his face contort with pain. A gasping noise came from him, bubbling through the blood trickling from his mouth, and she whispered, "It's okay, doctor… Don't try to speak."

His mouth worked harder, however, so she leaned close to him to hear what he was trying to say. "…too…strong," he forced out, gasping terribly. "Can't…be…_human_…"

"Who, Dr. Jones?" she asked, as she realized she had missed the start of his sentence. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. "Who did this to you?"

But his eyes had already gone blank, and his agonized breathing had come to a stop. She felt tears blurring her vision as she regarded the shattered body of the doctor who had been so kind even when she panicked, reassuring her without judging her, gently leading her to be able to trust him even though he reminded her of the scientists in her memories.

_Have I been wrong all this time about who is—or rather, is not—controlling the Organization?_ she wondered darkly. She knew, looking at his body, that these injuries had not been caused by a zombie. She knew that they had to have been caused by once-human hands—hands now capable of shattering bones and tearing holes in people.

That, at least, would have been a mercy. It would have provided a quick death. Whoever had inflicted these injuries had intended for him to suffer, had wanted him to linger in agony before finally slipping away. She remembered the screams from earlier and shuddered as she realized she had been right in thinking of torture. But who could hate him so deeply, and why? Dr. Jones had never harmed anyone.

Jill folded the doctor's hands over his chest and laid his body down, whispering, "I hope somewhere, Dr. Jones, you're eating cookies," as she remembered his offer to her. If anyone deserved to be comforted, he did now.

Reluctantly, she left him there, knowing there was nothing more she or anyone else alive could do. She continued on her search of the second floor for Kirsty, but she felt empty inside. Even after everything she had seen, the torturous murder of the doctor haunted her. She didn't understand it. She could understand, in an objective way, killing someone who was opposing you. But why would anyone—_even Wesker_, she thought reluctantly—want to hurt him so badly?

She suddenly felt dizzy, slipping in a pool of blood and landing on the ground. She lay there for a minute, knowing she had to get up, but it all was suddenly too much. Everything that had happened came crashing on upon her, and she wondered in a distant way if she would start having hallucinations again. She thought she sensed someone watching her, but the real world felt far away.

_Can't be human_, he had tried to tell her, although he hadn't been able to explain any further.

_The experiments ravaged my body beyond recognition_, the child who was not a child had told them, without seeming to care.

_He never woke up from the nightmare,_ Dr. Morgan had guessed, about her patient from years ago who sounded so similar to Horbes.

_Where is the connection?_ she demanded of her memories, but they had no answers. They had only more nightmares, as they pulled her down again, far from the waking world. Now she relived the day she had almost died, the day she and Chris had gone to find Ozwell Spencer and had found Albert Wesker instead…

"Jill!"

She heard Kirsty's voice shouting to her from afar, pulling her away from that mansion of nightmares. _That's right, I have a job to do. I'm supposed to be finding Kirsty._

"Jill, wake up now!" She was shaking her.

Her eyes opened, and she looked up into Kirsty's worried face. "I'm all right."

"You were talking to yourself."

"I was?" That had never happened before, as far as she knew.

Instead of answering, Kirsty put her face in her hands. "Oh, Jill, I thought I was going to die! They're all over the place!"

"Come on," Jill said, getting up with difficulty. "If anyone is still alive on this floor, we have to protect them."

"I shouldn't have come!" she cried, sounding hysterical.

"Don't worry. I won't let them get you." She held out her hand, and Kirsty took it. "It'll be fine."

No matter what had happened, they had to carry on.


	27. Chapter 27: Fourth to Fall

Chapter 27: Fourth to Fall

Claire stepped through the wreckage of the ruined waiting room, helping survivors as Leon took care of the zombies trying to attack them. Between the groans of the zombies, the smell of rotting flesh, and the numerous gunshots, it was no wonder that most the survivors were in a state of panic. Several began to cry in relief when they realized that someone had finally come to help them. She did her best to treat injuries, separated out those who thought—and would admit—that they had been infected, and tried to console them all. Steve scurried along behind her, helping whenever she asked him to. He seemed strangely withdrawn.

She was glad to have something to do, to keep her mind occupied, although she hated that it had to be something this terrible. At least it kept her from thinking about Sherry. Kirsty's unthinking comment had cut deep.

It was bad enough that she had abandoned the girl once before. At least then she had left her with Leon, and her greatest mistake was never trying to find out what had happened to her. She still didn't really know what had happened in the following years. This, however, was very different. Sherry had vanished into thin air, after being targeted by extremely dangerous people.

_How was I supposed to look for her?_ she argued in justification, but she knew that wasn't the real problem. The problem was that after the initial shock had worn off, she had forgotten all about her.

For all Claire knew, she had already been caught. She wasn't trained like Ada; if the Organization wanted her dead, they would surely have the resources to track her down. Who would she go to for help? Who _could_ she go to for help?

_Come back, Sherry,_ she pleaded silently. _Let us keep you safe._

"The area is secure for now," Leon said, walking towards them. He picked up a fallen chair and righted it, although that only made it look out of place amidst the chaos. "What's going on here?"

She saw that he was indicating the two separate groups of survivors.

"The group on the left may have been infected," she said, wincing at the panicked looks on the faces of the people in that group. Some of them looked like they wished they had lied. "None have started changing yet, though."

Leon looked grim. "If only we knew where the vaccine was…"

"Wait!" she cried, remembering her first meeting with Dr. Jones. "I do know where it is!"

"You do? I'll stay here and protect the survivors," he said. "You go get that vaccine!"

"I'll come with you, Claire," Steve volunteered, unsurprisingly.

"All right," she said, nodding to him and hurrying out of the waiting room, gun ready in case they encountered more zombies.

He ran alongside her and started to turn to go down the hallway they usually traversed to visit their friends, until she grabbed him by the arm. The area where the T-virus patients had been quarantined, along with its waiting area and the storage room she had been shown, was in the other direction.

"This way," she said, taking a good look at his face. He still didn't look well. She worried about him even more after what had happened during the fight with the Control Plaga. He had refused to explain, claiming that he hadn't been saying anything about loyalty, let alone muttering the word. _Why would Jill have lied to me?_ she wondered, feeling uneasy at the thought.

"Sorry." His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he glanced away from her. "Let's go."

She also noticed that he was looking in every direction as they ran, as if trying to memorize the layout of the hospital. At one point he even stopped briefly to look at a map on the wall. She wondered if he was afraid they would get lost somehow and be unable to find their way back to Leon and the survivors.

The halls they were in now were less frequently used, and so soon their footsteps sounded too loud. They passed many dark rooms, although she glanced at each one to make sure she couldn't see a zombie staggering forward for an ambush. However, the area was still and quiet, almost eerily so.

The quarantine area was a different story. As soon as they reached the waiting room, Claire heard a dull groan from off to the side. She turned to look, gun ready, and saw that a zombie was picking itself up off the floor. Blood stained its mouth, dripping down onto the torn remains of its shirt. Flesh hung from it in decaying tatters, as if several unlucky victims had already fought it. Another one came staggering out from the hall leading further in, lurching towards them with clutching hands.

Steve opened fire on one, so she took care of the other. Soon, both zombies had fallen to the ground, not victorious this time.

"This way!" she shouted, running to the area where she and Dr. Jones had put on their suits to visit the patients. She ran to the door labeled _Storage_ and flung it open.

Cold hands grabbed her, and she stumbled backwards under the weight of the zombie. It had a tight grip on her, teeth gnashing as it tried to get to her skin. Taken by surprise, her arms were partially pinned, and she couldn't raise her gun to shoot it. She could feel its breath, and she twisted in panic.

"Claire!" Steve shouted, and she prayed that he wouldn't try shooting it through her, even as she struggled to break free.

His weight rammed them both from the side, and the zombie freed her with a surprising screech. She took a step backwards to see what was happening. The zombie was on the ground, and Steve had begun shooting it now that she was in the clear. Bullet holes were rapidly forming over the clothes of what had once been a lab technician, before the outbreak happened.

She stepped past the zombie and looked into the storage area. The room was lit up and well ventilated. No one else was in there. She could see the refrigerator, positioned nicely near the center of the room, with a sign warning everyone that food and drinks were not to be put inside.

Claire hurried over to it and opened it up. The T-virus antidote was contained in a labeled crate, and she picked it up. It was big, requiring her to wrap both arms around it to carry it out of the room. There definitely was enough for the people in the waiting room, and she had seen another crate of the same vaccine in there as well, in case there were more people to treat.

"Do you need help?" Steve asked, when she reached him with the crate.

She smiled at him over the top of it. "Yes, actually, I do." She started to hand over the crate, but then something occurred to her, and she paused. "Actually, could you go back into the storage room and see if you can find syringes?"

He nodded and disappeared inside the room. She waited anxiously, knowing that each second was precious at a time like this. He emerged quickly with a sealed package and grinned in triumph. She smiled back.

Just then, an alarm started going off. They both looked around, but the source was soon explained as a voice rang out. It sounded relatively close, although not right around the corner; it seemed to be one of the police officers shouting through a megaphone.

"We're under attack at the side entrance! A force is attacking from the outside! If anyone can hear this, we need assistance! Repeat, we're being overrun at the side entrance!"

Claire stared in the direction of the voice in alarm. _An outside force? The Organization?_ They were close enough that they could get there, but she would be slowed down by carrying the crate. More importantly, the people back in the waiting room needed that vaccine. They couldn't wait any more than the officers guarding the entrance could.

Steve looked at her, and she could tell from the determined set of his face that he must have seen the same problem. "I'll go. You go cure those people!"

He set the package of syringes on top of her crate and then started to march away, but she called after him, "Steve!"

He turned and looked at her, and she realized she didn't know how to put her emotions into words. How could she explain how much it meant to her that he was going to help those people—that he was voluntarily fighting that strange need he felt to be with her, because he knew he could help elsewhere? It was noble, even heroic, but telling him he was a hero would seem misplaced, and explaining it would take too much time.

She settled for the simplest expression and said, "I love you, Steve."

He blinked at her, seeming more taken aback than pleased. Perhaps it was the stress of the situation, but he just looked at her for a moment and then turned and ran in the direction the cry for help had come from. As he turned, she thought she saw pain flash across his face.

_Is he afraid this will be like last time?_ she wondered, staring after him. _Is he afraid he might never see me again?_

As she adjusted the crate in her arms and began to retrace her steps back to the waiting room, she thought about that. It was always a risk, at times like this, but now it seemed real. In some sense, she realized, she had been holding on to the assumption that no matter how many people died, their little team would always come out intact. Even with the attacks on them, none of them had died.

_But that could change._

However, she had little time to reflect on thoughts of their mortality. The empty hallways they had taken to reach the quarantine area had seen some activity while they were occupied, and now a zombie was advancing towards her.

She assessed the situation quickly, realizing that with the crate in her hands, she couldn't draw her weapon or do much of anything to defend herself. The only way would be if she dropped the crate, but then she would risk damaging the vaccine.

Increasing her speed, she ran straight at the zombie and then dashed to the side. In the clear, she continued past before it, with its slowed reaction times, could respond. However, that wasn't the last of them. Another zombie, initially hidden by the first one, was directly in her path. It let out a chilling groan and reached out towards her.

She turned quickly, flinching as the icy fingers of the undead brushed through her hair in a failed attempt to grab her. She raced down the halls, going as fast as she dared while carrying the crate. The last thing she needed was to fall down and have the container smash.

More zombies tried to impede her progress, but she dodged each and every one with increasing difficulty. By the time she reached the waiting room, she was breathing hard, arms burning under the weight of her cargo. Her efforts had taken a toll on her energy, and one of the zombies doggedly following was starting to gain on her as she slowed.

_Just a little further,_ she told herself, seeing the waiting room just ahead. She could see Leon now, standing protectively in front of the two groups of huddled survivors.

The zombie reached her just as she crossed the threshold. She cried out as it caught her from behind, wrapping decaying arms around her and leaning close. She strained and pulled away, needing to break free and yet too exhausted to do so.

_No, no, no!_ She wanted nothing more than to drop the crate and defend herself, but she couldn't do that. She tightened her grip around the box; if she were bitten, then she would just have to be vaccinated with the rest.

Still, the thought of those teeth tearing into her flesh made her feel sick.

Fortunately, she wasn't alone. Leon had sprung into action the moment he saw her predicament, crossing the waiting room at a sprint and vaulting over any piece of furniture that got in his way. His knife was in his hand as he rocketed towards them.

_Too late!_ she thought in panic, straining against the monster's arms as its teeth brushed her exposed neck.

And then it was gone, forced away from her by Leon's momentum as he drove his knife into its skull. He stepped back and the zombie fell to the ground, while Claire looked on with a pounding heart.

"Did it get you?" he asked, taking the crate of vaccines from her.

She handed it over gratefully, and the pain in her arms faded. She reached up to examine her skin. It was wet from the zombie's mouth, which made her shudder with nausea, but it wasn't broken at all.

"No," she said, "I'm fine."

"Good. What happened to Steve?"

"He went to help the police at one of the entrances," she explained. "I wanted to hurry back here with the vaccine. We had better get started."

He nodded, and then they hurried over to the group of infected survivors. They all seemed grateful to see her, especially the ones who were already starting to look a little unwell. Only one man reacted differently, and he backed away about three feet, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Oh no!" he cried. "I know what you people do to the infected! You pretend you have the vaccine, but it's really a lethal injection so you can say it failed and save the vaccine for more important people!"

Claire eyed him skeptically. He looked familiar…and then she linked his face with his words and realized he was the same man who had been stirring up trouble on the day she had visited the survivors of the initial attack.

"Oh, it's you," they said in unison.

"You've met?" Leon asked, raising his eyebrows. He set the crate down on the floor, close enough so that it could be easily reached.

"Yeah." The man frowned and narrowed his eyes at her. "You're the one with Terra Save. The one who has faith in humanity. You wouldn't kill someone in cold blood, would you?"

"No," she said, "I wouldn't."

Still grumbling to himself and looking around suspiciously, he allowed her to administer the vaccine. "Will this even work?" he demanded, apparently not content unless he was arguing. "I don't need protection against being infected in the future; I need protection against the infection I already have!"

"This particular strain has been proven to have antidotal qualities," she said calmly, making sure to look around and make eye contact with the others, who were starting to look panicky. "Don't worry."

Once the situation had been taken care of—which included a few members of the other group coming forward and admitting that they had lied and also needed the vaccine—Leon asked, "Do you think you can handle things here on your own?"

She made sure her gun was loaded and nodded. "Yes, why?"

"I'm going to go take a look around. I'll make sure everything is secure on this floor and then check a place no one else may have thought of—the basement. The last thing the hospital needs is some zombies lingering down there."

She nodded in agreement. "All right. Be careful."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he raised his gun to her in salute. "Don't worry about me."

Once he was gone, she turned back to the survivors. They were sitting together now, the two groups having cautiously merged once there was no pressing need to differentiate between them. She almost asked them to separate again, just in case anything went wrong, but she thought that might cause another panic. Being together seemed to comfort them.

She decided it would be fine the way it was. She'd just have to keep an eye out for any trouble, while guarding them at the same time. Claire lifted one of the fallen chairs and positioned it so that she could see both the survivors and the doorway while sitting in it.

"I remember you," a small voice said. "You were with the nice doctor."

She looked at the speaker in surprise and realized that the little girl she and Dr. Jones had entertained with the puppet show was among the survivors. She hadn't even seen her there at first, as concerned as she was about the infected. The girl looked much healthier now, although her eyes were red from crying.

"I remember you too," Claire said with a smile.

"Did you bring the puppets?"

"I'm afraid Dr. Jones has them." From the looks on the faces of the survivors, even the adults would have liked a good puppet show to cheer them up. "I'll tell you what," she said, lowering her voice as if telling the child a secret. "Once things have calmed down, and Dr. Jones comes down here, I'll convince him to get the puppets out again."

That wasn't much, but as little of a comfort as it was, it still managed to get a smile out of the little girl.

A smile under circumstances like this was a veritable miracle in itself.

xXx

They met in the hallway on the first floor, near Chris's room. The survivors he had been protecting had been ushered away under the guidance of the doctors and police who had made it, to join those that Claire had taken care of. That gave their team time to meet and discuss things once again.

Jill had related the news of Dr. Jones's death in a distant, detached voice. His body had been taken away, covered in a white sheet. The next day, the town was going to try to have funeral services for all those who had died. The graveyards were expanding, giving the eerie impression that some evil force had commanded the tombstones to multiply.

_I hope that poor little girl doesn't ask me about Dr. Jones,_ Claire thought, a crazy thought in light of everything that had happened. Yet she couldn't help thinking back to the way she had made that promise, having naturally assumed that the doctor would survive.

"There were so many bodies!" Kirsty whimpered. She was rocking back and forth on her feet and had been doing so since they gathered. "So many…" She looked as though she was about ready to pass out.

Barry moved his motorized chair over to her and started trying to console her.

"We didn't stop Las Plagas," Steve said, staring blankly at the wall. He had returned alive from the side entrance, but he was the only one. "They came. They helped contain the outbreak, but they killed everyone who got in their way. I—I saw them. I…I know it was their plan. The Organization."

"The Organization has to be stopped!" Sheva said. "This is madness!"

"They were coming after us," Chris said darkly. "That's why they attacked the hospital. It wasn't just a show of power this time. They wanted to attack us while we were weakened. Whoever is behind this is coming after _us._"

There was an odd light of fury burning in his eyes, and Claire realized with a start that Chris had already come to the conclusion they had all been dancing around for so long now. Kirsty thought there was a chessmaster controlling the Organization's actions from the shadows—and Chris had decided it was Wesker.

_Could he still be alive?_ Claire wondered, glancing around uncomfortably. Her eyes fell on Steve, another dead man returned to life, and she shivered.

"You're doing it again," Kirsty hissed, stepping away from Barry and taking a step towards Chris.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Kirsty, I—"

"Hey," Steve interrupted, looking around, "where's Leon?"

Thoughts of Wesker vanished, as she looked around and saw that Leon wasn't there. She had just assumed, when they went through the first floor and met up again, that he had joined the group.

"He said he was going to the basement," Claire said slowly. "If no one saw him up here, then maybe he's still down there."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Jill asked, getting up from where she had been sitting.

xXx

The two of them led the group, with Steve and Kirsty following. Jill had been in favor of Kirsty remaining behind with the other three—being a noncombatant and currently shell-shocked, taking her into danger was a bad idea—but she had pleaded and insisted that the only way she was staying behind was if they tied her down.

They found the way to the basement with only a little trouble, eventually consulting the map that Claire had noticed earlier. From there, they hurried to the indicated location, and opened the door onto stairs leading down into the dark. A light switch sat against the wall by the door, but nothing happened when Claire flipped it.

Jill still had a light attached to her gun, so she turned it on and led the way down the stairs. It was hard to see anything in the basement, and when they reached the bottom, she swept the light around. There were boxes in the corners, pipes along the walls… Claire gasped in alarm when the light revealed a body, but closer inspection showed that it had been a zombie, shot dead.

"There!" Jill cried suddenly, when her light fell on a familiar set of dark clothes.

They hurried towards Leon, and Claire's mouth went dry. Why was he so still? Was he just unconscious, or…?

_Or has one of their attacks finally been lethal?_

They reached him together, and Jill shone the light on Leon's face. Kirsty let out a shriek, and Claire jumped back in surprise. Jill swore softly and knelt beside him, grabbing his arm to feel for a pulse.

"He's alive," she said, which was at least a small comfort.

He was almost unrecognizable. His skin was oddly tinged and twisted; disturbing black growths had begun to sprout out of him, crawling along his flesh to envelope him. Veins were too visible in his neck, too dark and almost glowing. Blood covered his clothes, having come from mysterious wounds that seem to have come from nowhere. As Claire looked on in horror, another section of his skin burst open, splattering him with more blood. Almost immediately, a vile-looking substance oozed out, hardening into one of the dark growths.

"We have to get him help," Jill said, reaching down and trying to pick him up.

Claire moved forward to help, and Steve joined her. Kirsty was still screaming. She seemed unable to stop.

"I'll help carry Leon," Steve said quietly. "Claire, you better talk to Kirsty before she has a breakdown."

She nodded and rushed over to the other woman. "Calm down," she said, grabbing her by the arm. "He's going to be all right."

"You don't know that!" she shrieked, her voice going high and shrill. "What did they _do_ to him? It's just like… It's worse than…" She trailed off and screamed again.

"Come on," Claire said, taking her arm to support her. She helped her up the steps after the others and wished she could find the words to console her.

But as she watched Jill and Steve carry Leon, who seemed to be looking less human every time she looked, she couldn't think of anything comforting to say.


	28. Chapter 28: The Fifth Victim

Chapter 28: The Fifth Victim

The surviving members of the hospital's staff, along with those who had been away or on vacation during the attack, were now running everything in shifts. Many doctors, nurses, and patients alike had been saved due to Dr. Jones having blocked the stairs leading to the third floor. With the outbreak contained to two floors and the basement, and with the remarkable defense of the first floor, it had not been nearly as bad as it could have been.

Patients had been moved to consolidate the hospital's layout, due to the decreased number of employees. The patients who were the most recovered had to become somewhat self-reliant, as more resources went to those who needed the most help.

One such person was Leon. Having been treated as soon as possible, by the next day he was already returning to normal. Swathed in bandages and needing treatments hourly to fight the viruses trying to rise up in his bloodstream, he nevertheless was conscious and able to communicate.

Unfortunately, he hadn't seen his attacker.

"The light was working when I went down to the basement," he said. "I started looking around, and I found a zombie waiting. While I was fighting it, the lights went out, and someone knocked me down. As strange as it sounds, I think they leaped from the top of the stairs onto me. We struggled in the darkness, and I forced him—or her, I suppose—away. I reached for my gun, but then they struck me with a needle. It all went black after that." He shook his head. "Whoever they were, they weren't…normal. They fought normally at first, but when I fought back, their style changed to something…less human. It's hard to remember clearly."

_Dr. Jones and Leon, both attacked by someone with inhuman abilities._ Jill suppressed a shiver. The situation was sounding worse all the time. From evidence found in the basement, though there was an unfortunate lack of fingerprints, it seemed that the attacker had come with several viruses in syringes and had injected Leon with all of them. They had rendered him unconscious and begun to ravage his body, but the viruses had combated each other to the point where none came out on top.

_A mistake?_ she wondered. _Or was this a deliberately non-lethal attack?_

The culprit's identity was still in the air, but Steve had said that when he went to help the police defend the side entrance, their opponents hadn't all been zombies. Some had been humans infected with Las Plagas, and it was possible that one could have slipped inside with the viral containers, or secretly passed them on to an accomplice. The officers all had been found dead, but that didn't necessarily exonerate them, considering the Organization's suicide tactics.

Then, of course, there was the nightmare that kept tailing Jill. The cloaked woman had vanished after leaping from the second story window, leaving behind no proof as to whether she had lived or died or even had been there at all. If she did exist—and for a hallucination, she was a remarkably persistent one, still showing up after most of Jill's doubts had vanished—then it was possible she had been Leon's attacker.

There was also the lingering theory that it was Wesker, which would add credence to the possibility that it was by the attacker's design that the victims of these attacks were surviving. He would have had the ability to kill at least Leon, once he was incapacitated. That, however, would raise even more questions about what the possible motive behind this was.

"This is terrible," Claire whispered. Steve was sitting close beside her, with his arm around her protectively. Kirsty still seemed shell-shocked, looking ready to burst into tears every time her gaze fell on Leon.

"Don't worry," Leon said. "I'll be better in no time. See, I'm feeling better already." He started to get up, possibly to demonstrate how much better he was feeling, and an alarm went off. "Oh, blast."

"What is that?" Jill asked uneasily, looking around as sirens echoed throughout the building. She could hear running footsteps.

"That's in case the viruses get out of hand and send me on a killing rampage," he said, in a casual tone as if to say they shouldn't worry. "You better go, since they'll start running tests to make sure it really _was_ just me forgetting about the alarm system again."

They trooped out and made a few attempts to reassure the panicked doctors and nurses who were running down the hall towards Leon's room. From there, they went to visit Sheva. She, Barry, and Chris were all being confined a little longer than had been expected, due to straining themselves during the battle to defend the hospital.

She said she was feeling fine nevertheless, although she looked grim. "Josh agreed with you, Jill. He has broken all contact with me and the rest of the B.S.A.A."

"What?" Kirsty asked. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Was my idea to spread false trails that bad? I thought… I thought I had finally done something helpful…"

Jill glanced at her. "We're in a bad situation, Kirsty. There might have been a traitor in the B.S.A.A., and until we know for sure, we can't take chances."

"There _was_ a traitor," Sheva said. "Josh and the others walked straight into an ambush the last time they changed locations. They barely made it out; he no longer can ignore that all of the safe houses have been compromised and that the Organization is actively hunting them. Only someone from the B.S.A.A. would have had that information."

"If they are G.P.C.," Claire said, "then it would have been easy to get their people in."

"The question is, who can we trust?" Sheva asked. "Can we trust anyone?"

On that unhappy note, they went to visit Chris and Barry, who were now roommates.

"Do you know something they haven't told us?" Barry asked. "You look like a funeral procession."

Jill sat down and glanced at the others. Claire and Steve were having a whispered argument about something, and Kirsty was swaying slightly near the doorway, looking like she might pass out. "There was a traitor in the B.S.A.A.," she answered finally, since none of them looked like they were going to talk.

_You did such a good job of blocking out the other attacks._

_ Can it,_ she told her thoughts in annoyance. _We've been through this already. It's not me._ Unless, of course, the Organization had developed a way to control people that they didn't know how to detect…but that would undermine the supposed facts from the nightmare that had launched this train of thought. Wesker had been very clear that it was P30 affecting her. _Unless he lied so I would get tested and think I was safe…_

"I'm not surprised," Barry said. "Did you notice that the people who survived the attacks on the headquarters have made no attempts to contact us? You'd think they would want to help, or at least stay in contact."

She remembered her own thoughts about that, and all the misgivings she had had about that helicopter ride. Abruptly she was back there with the people who had observed her without seeing the cloaked woman she had been fighting, wondering if they could be trusted, asking herself if seeing a conspiracy everywhere made herself too paranoid. What if it really _was_ an elaborate plot against her?

_But why?_ It made as little sense as anything else that was happening.

"A traitor in the B.S.A.A.," Chris said darkly. "What if it's more than that? What if we need to be looking a little closer to home?"

Claire's head snapped towards him. "What?"

"Think about it," he said. "This attack on Leon could be explained away by the confusion of the battle, but what about the others? Wouldn't someone have noticed strangers prowling around the house or lurking near Sheva's car? What if the attacker isn't from an outside source?"

Jill felt her blood run cold at what he was implying. This was worse than her conspiracy theory. At least that pointed to outsiders. Here, they were a team.

"But there are only four of us left who haven't been attacked," Kirsty said, her voice unsteady. "Are you saying it's one of _us_?"

"If it's one of us, there are eight suspects," Steve said.

Jill looked towards him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"If a traitor was going to carry out attacks on his—or her—companions, what better way to clear himself of suspicion than to fake an attack on himself? That means if we're looking to our own group for the attacker, there are eight suspects." He paused. "Well, seven, actually, because no one would suspect themselves."

"No, eight," Jill interrupted, feeling another chill run through her. _It was just a nightmare. What reason would he have had to lie?_ "Isn't it possible that the person carrying out the attacks could be unaware of what they're doing? They could be a traitor without realizing it, following commands that they never remember." _Mind games…_

"You mean like some sort of sleeper agent?" Claire asked. "But how would that work?"

"Wait!" Kirsty cried. "What about multiple personalities? What if one of us has a multiple personality that is doing this? Now, the average number of alternate personalities recorded is 13, but I've seen accounts of people claiming as many as 180, so if we use the theory that any one of us has between 13 and 180 alternate personalities… My word, we're getting a lot of suspects, aren't we?"

Dead silence greeted this statement. Jill had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Chris was staring at Kirsty as if not knowing whether to take her seriously or not. Claire just looked alarmed, and Steve seemed a bit miffed about the conversation having taken this turn. She understood his feelings. Treachery was a serious charge, after all.

_Hey,_ she realized, _I'm sitting in a hospital, thinking about mysterious attackers, treachery, and the possibility of mind control, and I haven't even started to break down._

That was one triumph. Now all she needed to do was get to the bottom of this.

"Whoever it is," Chris said finally, "we need to find out soon. We're all in danger, now."

"We'll figure it out," Claire promised.

"Hey," Kirsty said, raising her hand cautiously, "your comment about danger reminded me that my own mortal peril had brought a question to mind. Well, um, it's more of a request, really."

"What is it?" Jill asked, realizing that she was looking at her.

"There are only four of us now. I don't want to be alone. They'll get me next, I'm sure of it! I don't want to be the fifth victim! Can I…stay with you three, at least until someone else is out of the hospital so I'm not the odd one out?"

She saw her point. Staying together provided a sense of security, even with the thought that one of the others might be a traitor. "I understand," she said, "but will there be enough room in the house?"

"Of course there will!" Claire cried. "Chris's house is safe again. We can all go back there!"

"I'm starting to feel like my house is a hotel," Chris muttered quietly, but he was smiling. "I can't object if it keeps you all safe, though. Sure, go ahead."

With that decided, they started to get ready to leave, so that they could get everything set up and resume working on tracking down the Organization, and the attacker. Jill started going through things in her head, trying to decide which documents from her library she should take with her. There was something about the seemingly disconnected chain of thoughts that had flown through her mind after Dr. Jones's that kept screaming at her that it was important.

"Jill," Chris called, as she started to follow the others out of the room.

She turned back to him, wondering if she had seemed too distracted. He certainly looked worried about something. "What is it, Chris?"

"It can't be a dead man. I've been thinking about what you told me on the plane, on the day we went to see Mr. Rathbourne. If it's not a traitor…I think it might be one of them."

She stared at him for a moment, trying to remember what he was talking about. Then her heart stopped beating for a second, and she knew which files she had to find.

xXx

She dashed around the library, grabbing every file she wanted to take with her to Chris's house. The others had gone on ahead, wanting to look things over and make sure everything seemed secure for the four of them. She was digging things out of the filing cabinet as quickly as she could, not sure of what she'd find but now certain of where she had to look.

_Treachery, treachery,_ a part of her mind kept whispering ominously. How could she look at her friends and wonder which one of them was a traitor? There had to be a better explanation. Here, in these files, she might just be able to find it.

"Ozwell E. Spencer?" Kirsty's voice asked from behind her.

Jill turned, startled. The other woman was looking at the files she had stacked on the table, reading the name on the folder with a frown. "He was the president of Umbrella," she explained.

"What? Isn't he dead?"

"Yes, but his work might still be having an effect on what's happening now." She frowned. "I thought you went to Chris's house with the others."

_Treachery_, that voice in her mind hissed again, and she tensed, just in case.

"I did, but I came back." Kirsty slumped. "I was hoping to talk to you."

"What about?"

She shifted from foot to foot and then blurted out, "Chris thinks I'm the traitor, doesn't he?"

"What?" Jill stared at her. She hadn't noticed Chris treating Kirsty any differently than usual, and he hadn't said anything but that the attacker might not be from the outside. What had gotten her so upset?

"I'm the only outsider here!" Kirsty wailed. "You all have known each other for so long! You're a _team_; I'm just the add-on that everyone tolerates. I watched Barry's videos. I saw your teamwork, and I see it now every time any of you go on a mission together. You're all close, very close. None of you would ever betray the others, and Chris has to see that too. That leaves me."

Jill wasn't sure what she should comment on first, that treachery wasn't always willing, or that watching videos of their S.T.A.R.S. team wasn't exactly the best place to look for examples of a group that could never possibly have a traitor. Before she could say anything, however, Kirsty fell to her knees and continued.

"Leon tried to teach me self-defense the other day. He wanted to know what I would do if someone fast enough to dodge bullets caught me while I was trying to run away. I said I'd die. They all took it as a joke or pessimism, or something, but it _wasn't_. It was the truth! How many people can dodge bullets, Jill? Not many! If Albert Wesker ever caught me, _I would die_, because I would _kill myself_ before letting that madman lay a finger on me! Do you understand how much I fear those people? You don't know what they did to me! I would never work for them, ever! I _couldn't_!"

"Calm down," Jill said, stepping towards her and putting her hands out in an attempt to placate her. She held out her hand and helped her to her feet. "No one ever said you were the traitor, Kirsty."

"But how could you suspect each other?" she whimpered.

"It might not even be a traitor. That's only one possible explanation." She took a deep breath. "If it is one of us, it might not be voluntary. People can be intimidated, coerced…or even controlled."

"Controlled?" Kirsty gaped at her. "What, you mean like brainwashing and hypnosis? But that stuff isn't real!"

"It can be done," Jill assured her.

"But not like that!" she protested. "I mean, I've read about it… I thought someone being brainwashed had to be ready to go along with it. Deep down, they had to want to obey. A person couldn't be forced to act really, really against their will!"

_Don't hit her,_ Jill urged herself. _She doesn't understand. Do not hit her._

Slowly unclenching her fists, she ground out, "They have ways. Don't you think you should be going along to Chris's house?"

"No, I—" Kirsty took a good look at her face and let out a squeak. "Yes, okay! I'm going, I'm going!"

Jill stared after her as she ran out of the room. She was entirely mistaken in this case. There was a way to control people entirely against their will. Wesker had found it. There probably _were_ ways to convince someone that they wanted to work for you, now that she thought about it in psychological terms, but none quite as easy. If you had the ability to override someone's free will, why would you waste time persuading them that they wanted to obey voluntarily?

Something about that thought struck her as familiar, making the back of her neck prickle, but she couldn't place it. Letting it slide, she returned to gathering up her files.

xXx

"These meetings get more depressing every time," Claire commented, as the four of them settled down around the table they had originally used to meet at.

Jill reluctantly sat at the head of the table, although it seemed silly with such a small group. Claire was at the chair to her left, with Steve right beside her. Kirsty was sitting across from Steve, since she seemed reluctant to approach Jill after the incident in the library.

Arrangements for how they were going to sleep had been quickly decided after they had all arrived at the house. Kirsty, afraid to be by herself, had moved into the room that Claire used. Jill, feeling confident that she was the one most capable of handling an attack—not that that was saying much, considering Leon should have been able to defend himself, too—had moved into Chris's room. She hoped it wouldn't blow up again. Steve, having lobbied unsuccessfully to put Kirsty with Jill and take her place in rooming with Claire, had instead decided to move the couch upstairs so that he was closer to all of them.

_Being closer should make us safer,_ she thought, _unless of course, one of us is the attacker._

"There are only four of us left now," she said out loud, "until the others come out of the hospital. If I were the attacker, I'd strike now, taking out as many of us as possible while our numbers were down."

"That was a hypothetical 'if I were the attacker,' right?" Kirsty asked, eyeing her nervously.

Jill raised her eyebrows. "Yes. I was just trying to make the point that we need to be especially careful now."

"I think we need to be armed at all times," Claire said. She lifted her gun as an example, and Kirsty threw her hands into the air. "No, I'm not the attacker either, Kirsty."

"Neither am I," Steve said.

"I'm not either," Kirsty said. "Now that that's out of the way, have we decided there _is_ no traitor?"

"Yes, because traitors are so well-known for their honesty," Jill muttered.

"Really?"

"No."

Kirsty slumped and then brightened up again. "Well, don't worry about a thing. If we're almost done here, I'm going to go down to the basement and start training! You won't have to worry about me not being able to defend myself!"

"I'm going to go to my room and start looking through the journal some more, now that you're done with it, Kirsty," Claire said. "I'll start taking notes and see if I can come up with a plan to crack the Organization wide open."

"I'll keep watch outside," Steve said. "If there isn't a traitor, our attacker has to come from _somewhere._ I'll yell if anything happens."

_Wait, shouldn't we be sticking close together?_ Jill wondered, as the meeting broke up and they scattered. _Why do people always split up at times like this?_

She sighed and decided she may as well go along with it for now. She wanted to be alone, anyway, so that she could go through those files in peace and find the connection she was looking for.

xXx

Jill felt a little awkward, being in Chris's room. She had only been in there once, shortly after they had moved to the town. She had come over to his house because she didn't think she could face being alone in her house that night, and she had gone up to knock on his door after a particularly bad nightmare. Admittedly, that had been even more awkward than this, with Chris turning red while talking to her from his bed and clutching his blankets to himself like she had never seen his chest before.

She had to smile. Despite the paranoia and nightmare that had preceded it, that was a surprisingly good memory.

Still, she felt like she was trespassing, being in his room without him. Then again, it hardly looked like his room anymore, since it had been reconstructed after the explosion. Some of his furniture had been saved, but she could tell the dresser was new. The bedspread was completely new as well, as the accident had ruined the original. She still wondered how he had found an insurance policy that covered explosions intended to kill you.

His surviving personal belongings had been placed on top of the dresser for him to look through when he got back. She could see a couple of cracked photographs there, and she went to look at them out of curiosity. Although the frames had been cracked and destroyed, the pictures themselves were still clear.

One was of the two of them together, which made her blush even though she had similar pictures in her own house. She had the sudden image of Chris looking at her picture before he went to sleep at night, and she quickly stopped that line of thought.

The second was also familiar, as it was another photograph of the S.T.A.R.S. team, identical to the one she had gotten a copy of from Barry once they had moved here. Chris had made matters even simpler, however, by getting a slightly smaller frame and chopping the end of the photograph completely off.

_He probably burned it,_ she thought, leaving the dresser behind to open the window. Although she did want quiet, a nice breeze would help her think, as well. There was a desk in the corner of the room—it, too looked like it was a recent replacement—where she could sit near the window without fear of the wind blowing away the files.

She set down the stack of files she had brought along, and then she went to close the door. She didn't want anyone sneaking up on her without her knowing. She sat back at the desk and looked at the material in front of her for a moment, staring at the name much like Kirsty had done earlier.

_Ozwell E. Spencer. President of the Umbrella Corporation. Self-proclaimed god, according to these memoirs. Manipulator. Chessmaster. Betrayed._

She started to read carefully, and then she frowned as something caught her eye. She got up and located Chris's laptop, bringing it back to the desk and starting it up while she kept reading. She was sure he wouldn't mind her using his stuff, especially if it meant stopping their enemies.

She continued to look through the files, feeling like she was getting somewhere at last. There were still questions, still things that didn't make sense, but at least some parts could be answered. When the computer was ready, she brought up the Internet and did another search, looking for the proper name of a specific location.

"The South Sea can refer to the Pacific Ocean south of Panama," she read out loud, feeling terrified excitement welling up inside of her. "That's it. That's why you went to Panama."

A shout from outside pulled her out of her momentary triumph. "Wait, whoa—who are you?" Steve demanded, his voice carrying through the air to the open window.

Jill got up and ran to the window, looking out. She couldn't see Steve, and she didn't know for sure whom he was shouting at, but she _could_ see someone suspicious. A figure in a dark gray cloak, walking purposefully down the sidewalk, with a lowered hood that just barely failed to conceal the beaked mask.

_Time to solve a second mystery,_ she thought grimly, running out of the room.

She hurried downstairs and outside, passing Steve, who looked calm once again. He probably had stopped worrying when the woman hadn't tried to directly approach the house. He jumped back in alarm.

"Jill, where are you going?" he asked.

"To fight a time-traveling hallucination," she responded, feeling slightly giddy. She broke into a run before he could ask further questions. The plague doctor hadn't been heading for the house, true, but from the path she had been taking, Jill suspected she was going to double back and come from behind.

Moving along the side of the house, crouching low so as not to be seen, Jill made her way towards the back. It was time to end this. She crept along quietly, looking up from time to time. At last, she saw her adversary approaching.

The cloaked woman had indeed circled around and was now nearing the house from the street on the other side. She was looking around, but she didn't look closely enough. She turned towards the back of the house without noticing that she was being watched from the side.

Jill picked up her pace, moving fast while still going as quietly as she could. The other woman still seemed unaware that she was being pursued. The distance between them was quickly closing. It wouldn't be a straight-up fight this time. This time, it would be _her_ turn to use the element of surprise.

She waited until she had almost reached her, crouching so close that she felt she could reach out and grab the cloak if she wanted to. Then she jumped, tackling the pseudo plague doctor from behind and pinning her to the ground. She grabbed her arms before she could react, pulling them behind her and holding her in place.

"Ack," the figure groaned in a voice that most definitely was not her own. It was the first time Jill had ever heard her speak. "Let me up!"

"Just a minute," she said, getting out her gun. She prepared it in case she needed to shoot, and then she pointed it at the cloaked woman's head. "All right. Turn around slowly, and don't make any sudden movements."

She stood up so that the other woman could move, but stayed close enough that attempting to escape wouldn't look like a good option. She held the gun steadily as the woman turned around.

"Take off your mask."

The woman hesitated for a moment, and then she pulled down her hood and tore off the beaked mask. She had a close fringe of dark hair and a plain face, although her light eyes were currently blazing with anger. Jill had never seen her before in her life.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Does it matter?"

She supposed it didn't, at that. "Why have you been following me around, dressed like that, for all this time?"

"All this time?" The woman let out a sharp laugh. "Are you mad?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, suddenly suspicious.

"The first one to fight you wearing this outfit died in the fires surrounding the ruins of the B.S.A.A.'s North American headquarters. The second lasted until the explosion that destroyed the manor house of Mr. Rathbourne. The third survived the longest, until she was forced to jump from a window as you fought her in the hospital. Her body was recovered quickly and the role fell to me. It seems I will be the last."

"Why?" Jill asked, stunned. This was crazier than she had even imagined with her conspiracy theory. "Why go through all that trouble, just to…to what? To make me think I was losing my mind?"

The woman didn't answer. Instead, she took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted a hand to her head. Her eyes unfocused and she grimaced in pain. "So…the new conditioning works," she whispered softly. Then she collapsed to the ground.

Startled, Jill knelt by her. She didn't move and didn't even seem to be breathing. Expecting a trick, Jill grabbed her arm and felt for a pulse. She didn't find one.

Feeling perplexed and more than a little unsettled, she got up and started to walk away, wondering if she should call the police. She hoped they would run an autopsy, because she would very much like to know how this woman had died. Intent on her thoughts, she forgot to watch where she was going. Her foot caught on a clump in the grass, and she fell forward—just as a shot rang out and a bullet whizzed through the air where she had been standing.

Shocked, but falling into combat mode, Jill kept low and raised her gun. Another shot came, hitting the ground to her left. She fired back and then got up, sprinting to the side. More bullets struck the ground where she had been standing.

_ The attacker,_ she realized in a flash. _He's getting desperate; if he doesn't know I discovered his identity, he must realize I'm getting close._

She jumped up, exposing herself as a target but needing to see who was shooting at her. If her conclusions were correct, she would finally know what one of the other Wesker Children looked like. He had given himself up, by trying to fight her out in the open.

Even as she looked, she saw the figure darting away, getting out of sight quickly—but not quickly enough. Jill stared in shock, nearly dropping her gun. _How could I have been that wrong?_ she wondered, bewildered. The conclusions she had finally come to… every clue she had thought she finally understood… were they meaningless?

It didn't matter. She knew what she had seen, and the traitor had to know what she had seen. She had to act quickly, or she would be attacked again—and it would be lethal this time.

_I've got you,_ she thought, but discovering the traitor's identity didn't make her feel triumphant. It only made her feel sick. The attacker wasn't the person she expected from what she had read in Spencer's memoirs. It wasn't even Albert Wesker, returned from the grave. It wasn't one of the Wesker Children at all.

It was Steve.


	29. Chapter 29: A Traitor Revealed

Chapter 29: A Traitor Revealed

Claire looked at the notes she had compiled and nodded in satisfaction. This journal was proving to be increasingly useful. Kirsty had been more than happy to return it to her, after borrowing it to take her own notes. It seemed certain that they would be able to infiltrate the Organization now, although of course they'd have to find someone who wasn't known to them. That could be a problem.

She folded the papers up and put them in her pocket. Now it was time to look at the later entries, to see if she could figure anything out about the Phobetor Project. She had looked up the name and learned that it referred to the Greek mythological personification of nightmares. That had to mean something.

_Steve and his ghosts,_ she thought. Could that be it? Had the Organization used a drug on him that would cause him to see threatening specters everywhere? If so, what was the point?

She rubbed her head and lay back to rest. She had been taking the notes while curled up in the bunk bed. She felt tired enough that she considered taking a nap right then and saving the rest of the journal for a time when she was feeling more awake.

But she couldn't rest, not if there was a chance that she could learn something to use against the Organization. They had tried to kill her brother and friends. They had murdered Dr. Jones. They had committed atrocities across the globe, and now they were committed to wiping out the people trying to stop them.

_And at the same time, they're playing games with us._

She started to look through again, trying to find a clue as to whom the writer was working for. Kirsty was right; if the Organization had suddenly changed their tactics, it almost certainly meant that someone else had stepped in to guide them—or manipulate them. Their mysterious chessmaster—what was _his_ goal? There had to be something greater at work here than just random bioterrorist activity.

The Organization was vast and had gone undetected for years. If it really was G.P.C., then it had opposed and taken down rivals who hadn't even known their enemy was the Consortium they were a part of. Now they were risking everything with such bold, blatant moves.

They had destroyed any possible rival, but they also had begun to burn themselves out. They had used the H.C.F. for strange and almost trivial assignments, not paying attention to what they had trained for. They had responded to the possible sighting of Sherry with strange fury. They used structures that seemed to have been built for the sole purpose of being found, they demanded undeserved loyalty from those who worked for them, and they played strange games with their opponents.

What sort of person had the power to manipulate the Organization in such a way? What did it take to win the sort of unquestioning loyalty that had driven those men and women to do what they did? Who was truly in charge now, and what were they after?

The journal seemed completely devoid of clues, and a shiver ran through her. What sort of person could ensure that their identity was kept that secure?

A gunshot rang out, breaking through her thoughts. She jumped up, running to the door as further shots followed the first.

_They aren't waiting. Our attacker has struck again, already._

Racing downstairs, she nearly collided with Kirsty, who had come running from the direction of the basement. She stopped running and Kirsty jumped to the side to avoid colliding with her.

"What's going on?" Claire asked.

"I don't know! I just heard gunfire and came running to see!"

Looking at each other for a second, they ran together out through the front door. Steve was already starting to run towards the side of the house, gun in hand, but he stopped when he heard them coming.

"Jill went back there!" he shouted, pointing. "After that, someone started shooting!"

"Hurry!" Claire urged.

The three of them ran around to the side of the house, all with guns ready. However, when they got there, they only saw Jill. She was standing there with a shocked look on her face, staring ahead. When she noticed them, her expression darkened.

"What happened?" Kirsty squeaked, when they reached her. "Were you attacked?"

"Yes," she said. "I was…attacked." Her words were strangely stilted, as if she was trying to make up her mind about something.

"Who was it?" Claire asked, her breath catching with anticipation. This was the first time the attacker had failed to injure one of them. If Jill had seen who it was, they would finally have a lead.

_And we could stop worrying about a traitor, too._

Steve wrapped his arms around her from behind, apparently mistaking her reaction for one of fear. "Don't worry," he whispered, squeezing her tightly. "I won't let them hurt you."

Embarrassed for him to be doing such a thing with an audience, she tried to wiggle free, but he only hugged her tighter. She considered pointing out that he had pinned her arms and she wouldn't be able to shoot if someone attacked her, but she saw that at least he still had his gun in his hand.

"I'm sorry," Jill said, looking down. "They ran away, and I…didn't see them."

"It's all right," Claire said. "At least they didn't get you."

"Yeah." She didn't sound happy. She lifted her head, looking at them. "Listen, I'm going to go back to Chris's room now. I need to finish looking through those files." She turned quickly and headed back for the house, almost at a run.

They watched her go, Steve releasing Claire at last.

"She's very odd, isn't she?" Kirsty asked.

"That's not nice," Claire said, frowning at her. "I'm sure we all could be classified as 'a little odd,' if someone didn't know what we had been through."

"Well, what sort of person races back to look through some old files after someone tried to kill her?"

"Someone who wants to stop the Organization?" she countered.

Steve stepped away from them, lifting his hands into the air. "Whoa, if you guys are going to start fighting, I'm getting out of here!"

As he also ran back to the house, Kirsty shook her head, "Strange, strange, strange."

"Oh, leave him alone," Claire muttered irritably.

"I'm sorry. I forgot you two were…an item. But you have to admit, he's a little odder than the rest. I mean, he sees ghosts. He thinks they're following him."

"I know that!" She frowned at Kirsty. "That's something to be worried about, not to make fun of him about."

"I wasn't _making fun_ of anyone," she replied. Her shoulders slumped. "I'm doing it again, aren't I? That's why I don't fit in with you guys. I keep saying the wrong things."

"It's okay," Claire sighed. "Think of it this way, eventually you'll run out of wrong things to say."

Her eyebrows twitched up. "Was that a joke?"

Claire smiled. "Not a very good one, but yes. Come on, let's go back to the house."

They walked back in silence, and once they were inside, she turned and locked the door. She didn't want to make it too easy for the attacker to come in and get them, after all. Then she looked at Kirsty, who was shifting from foot to foot.

"I think I'm going to go watch TV," she said, when she noticed Claire looking at her. "That self-defense stuff…well, I'm just not up for it right now."

"Try to relax," Claire advised. "If you're too stressed, that won't do you any good at all."

She smiled appreciatively, and then walked into the living room.

Claire went back upstairs to her room, thinking through things as she went. She hadn't expected the next attack to come this quickly. Was it a sign of desperation? After all, this one had been a complete failure, except that the attacker had gotten away. Would he try to target Jill again, or would he go for one of the others?

She walked into her room, still lost in her thoughts, and someone grabbed her from behind. She opened her mouth to scream, and a hand clamped over her mouth. Panicked, she tried to twist away.

"It's _me_," Jill hissed, letting her go.

Claire turned and looked at her in surprise. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" she gasped.

"Keep your voice down," she whispered.

"All right," she agreed, complying although she didn't understand why. "What's going on? I thought you said you were going back to Chris's room."

"I lied," Jill explained grimly, "because the traitor will look for me there. I saw who was shooting at me."

"What?" She felt shocked, and she frowned, feeling suddenly suspicious. She couldn't prevent the thought from crossing her mind that if it came to a fight, Jill would beat her. "When we asked you, you said you hadn't seen anyone…"

_Not Jill. It can't be Jill._

Jill took a deep breath. "I was afraid of what might happen, if I revealed the traitor right there. I was going to do it, but I realized you were in danger."

Claire took a step back. "What are you saying?"

"It was Steve. He shot at me. He's the one who's been attacking us."

For a moment, the world seemed to spin around her, as the words entered her mind. Then she grounded herself in reality again and shook her head furiously, feeling fear and anger boiling inside. "No, he can't be. He wouldn't!"

"Calm down!" Jill grabbed her arm and looked her in the eyes. "Think it through, Claire. He showed up under suspicious circumstances after thirteen years. The attacks started right after that. He didn't have a motive—but think about some of the things he's been saying. He's the only one who can fight the ghosts, he has to be confident to keep them away… They _did _something to him, Claire. Now he's gone to Chris's room, to silence me so I can't reveal him."

She shook her head again, heart pounding. "I don't believe it; I won't believe it!" It couldn't be Steve. She had been worried about him, true…but if it had been something this dangerous that was going on, he would have found a way to tell her.

_He loves me!_ she thought desperately. He could never have attacked people she was close to.

"Just come with me," Jill said quietly. "Stand outside the door so that he thinks I'm alone. If nothing happens, I'll admit that I could be wrong. If he attacks me, you'll be there to help."

"All right," she agreed unhappily, if only so they could prove his innocence. She swallowed hard. "One condition, though."

"What?"

"He wouldn't betray us, not voluntarily. If he attacks you, and you kill him, I'll never forgive you. I promised him that if anything bad happened, we'd find a way to help him."

Jill nodded, looking suddenly sad. "I'd never kill someone I thought wasn't responsible for their own actions, Claire." She reached out and gripped her hand. "Don't worry. There has to be a way to save him, and we'll find it."

"All right."

She followed her out into the hallway quietly, still not quite believing what they were about to do. Did she really think that Steve was in Chris's room, lying in ambush? He couldn't be. But then again, she didn't know where he had gone after going back inside. She hadn't seen him on her way to her room.

_No. It can't be him!_

They reached Chris's room, and she took her place alongside the door as they had agreed. Jill burst into the room, holding her gun ready. A startled gasp came from inside.

"Steve. Were you looking for me?"

Hardly able to believe her own ears, Claire tilted her head very cautiously, so that she could see into the room without being noticed. Steve was standing near the window, a panicked look on his face, pointing a gun at Jill.

"You won't kill me," he said, his voice shaking. "If you do, everyone will think _you_ were the traitor."

"And you have to kill me," she said in a calm voice, "because otherwise it will be your word against mine, and then you won't be free to kill the rest of us. Is that the compulsion you were talking about the other day, Steve?"

He looked away for a moment and then returned his gaze to her. "I'm sorry, Jill." His hand tightened around the gun.

_This can't be happening!_

"You don't want to shoot me," Jill said, still sounding calm despite the circumstances.

"Yes I do!" he snapped. His voice was anguished. "I have to do this! I have to!"

"You have to, but you don't want to. They're two separate things."

"It doesn't matter, in the end," he said bitterly. "Either way, I'm going to kill you."

"There's always another option."

"There isn't this time! I have to do it!"

"Whatever they did to you, we can help you, Steve. I promise." She held out her free hand to him. "I understand. It's going to be all right."

He stared at her, and slowly he started to lower his gun. Claire held her breath, not daring to make any sound that might startle him. He still hadn't seen her. He looked from Jill's outstretched hand, up to her face again, and then back.

"No one will blame you for what you did. No one will hurt you. If it's the ghosts, I promise that they can't hurt anyone. Please, Steve. Trust me."

Steve stared at her for a second longer, and then slowly stepped forward and took her hand. Claire let out a sigh of relief.

It was a second too soon. He pulled Jill towards him violently, throwing her past him and to the ground. Even taken by surprise, she should have been able to overpower him. Yet as she got back up, he tackled her, forcing her back as he raised his gun.

_He lied,_ she realized in horror. _The T-Veronica virus _did_ change him._

"Steve, stop!" she screamed, running into the room and jumping at him from behind. She grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him away from Jill. That didn't work, so she hit his hand as hard as she could instead, knocking the gun out and onto the floor.

He knocked Jill to the ground and whirled around to face her. She nearly cried out again at the look in his eyes. She saw nothing there that she could appeal to, no sign of the man who loved her.

_I have to do it,_ he had said. He had to kill them, and she was numbered among that group.

He grabbed her, hands going around her throat. She tried to shout his name again, but it was cut off. He was choking her, strength enhanced by the virus. She struggled to pull away, trying to breathe, when he suddenly froze.

Steve's eyes widened, and his grip upon her loosened as he stared into her eyes. He suddenly let out an agonized scream, letting her go as he gripped his head and fell to his knees. Even as she gasped for breath, she stared at him in horror and could see the pain flashing across his face. With a groan, he stood up unsteadily, face twisted into a snarl of rage. "ALEX!" he roared, snatching up his gun and racing out of the room.

Rubbing her neck and trying to take deep breaths, Claire stared after him, wondering what was going on. Jill was already moving, grabbing her own gun and charging after him.

_Steve, don't do anything rash, please,_ she begged silently, following them out of the room. She could hear the pounding of their feet on the stairs, and she took off after them.

At the bottom of the stairs, she paused, but only for a second. A terrified scream rang out from the living room, and she ran in that direction. She got there quickly and dashed into the room, eyes flickering around to take in the scene.

Kirsty was standing in front of the couch, her hands in the air and her mouth open in an expression of terror. Steve was in the center of the room, steadfastly pointing his gun at her. Jill had her gun out as well, but she was frozen beside the doorway, as though she didn't know what to do. Her eyes were wide and there was a strange expression on her face.

"Steve!" Claire shouted, running over to him.

"Go away, Claire!" he cried.

She jumped in front of him, knocking the gun out of his hand with one swift movement. It flew past her, landing on the floor near the couch. She stared at him, moving to stay in his path when he tried to get around her. Whatever the Organization had done to him to make him do this, there had to be a way to stall him until they could fix the problem.

"You have to stop this," she said quietly, feeling tears forming in her eyes. "This is madness!"

"Claire, you don't understand!" he cried, his voice filled with desperation and—fear? "Get out of the way!"

He dashed to the side, and a shot rang out. Steve dropped instantly, blood and gore splattering her, and she fell to her knees by his side. A void seemed to have opened within her. She grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him towards her, but he was already still and lifeless. The bullet had gone straight into his brain.

_No! Steve! No, this can't be happening again!_

Cradling his body close to her and numbly trying to comprehend what had just happened—he couldn't be dead, he just _couldn't_—she turned towards Jill in shock. She had promised she wouldn't do it. But she was in the same position she had been in when she entered. She didn't look like she had shot him.

Looking in the other direction, she saw Kirsty crouching in front of the couch with Steve's fallen gun in her hand. She was pale and the gun was shaking in her grip. She set it down and hastily stood up, still looking dazed.

"You shot him!" Claire screamed, letting the tears come at last. She held his body tighter. "Why? _Why?_"

Kirsty stared at her, suddenly looking horrified. "W-what? He was going to kill me! He's a traitor! R-right?"

"There was something wrong with him!" Claire cried, sobbing as she stroked Steve's head. She could hardly breathe. _Thirteen years…he makes it back after thirteen years, only for it to end like this…_ "We could have helped him! But you…you…"

"Oh…" She bit her lip and stared at her with wide eyes. "I…I'm so sorry! I…" She edged away from the couch, looking as if she might run off and cry herself.

"Don't move."

Claire turned around, startled, and saw that Jill had raised her gun and was pointing it at Kirsty.

"W-what?" She raised a hand to her mouth, backing up until she was pressed against the couch again. "Jill…it's me! W-what are you doing?"

"I told you not to move!" Jill snapped.

Kirsty looked towards Claire for help. "Claire…please…"

She didn't know what was going on. She set Steve's body down gently and got to her feet, choking on tears as she turned her head from side to side to look at each of the other women. She didn't even know what to think.

_Has everyone gone mad?_

"You won't get away with this," Jill said.

"Please… Cl-Claire, help me!"

"I…"

"She's going to shoot me, Claire!" Kirsty shrieked, her voice going high and shrill. "There were two traitors, don't you see?"

"Don't you dare," Jill hissed. "There were two traitors, but I'm not the second!"

"Claire, you don't believe her, do you? She was controlled by Albert Wesker once before; who's to say it hasn't happened again!"

Claire froze as those words hit her, and then she slowly got out her gun. _If I'm wrong about this…_ But she couldn't waste time dwelling on it. She took a deep breath and then raised the gun.

She pointed it at Kirsty.

"No! You too?" She stumbled backwards against the couch, braids swaying and chest heaving. "Claire, please!"

"How did you know what happened to Jill?" she asked. "None of us ever told you." She looked down at Steve's body, and anger welled up inside of her, along with hot tears. "And how did you fire such a perfect shot that it killed him instantly, when you barely know how to hold a gun?"

"I…" Kirsty had her hand over her heart and was breathing heavily. "This is insane! You…you don't really think that _I…_ Jill, are you serious about this? Didn't you hear what I told you before? I could never… I…"

"Give it up," Jill said quietly. Her face was set, her eyes narrowed. "The little game is over…Alex."

"Alex?" Claire asked, turning to her, bewildered. That was the name Steve had shouted.

"Alex Wesker."

"Alex _what_?"

Jill started to explain, but then an eerie sound met Claire's ears. She turned slowly. Still standing by the couch, Kirsty had begun to slowly clap.

"Bravo," she said, straightening out of the cowering position she had been in. The mannerisms Claire had come to associate with her seemed to fall away from her, as if she was another person entirely. Her air of meekness and insecurity vanished as her mouth twisted into a cold smile. "So, you finally figured it out. I'm impressed. Tell me, what gave me away?" She laughed. "I was under the impression that if anyone thought of me at all, they believed I was a man."

"I had already started to think that Alex Wesker was the true 'chessmaster' manipulating the Organization," Jill said, staring back at her steadily. "Then Steve gave your identity away, when he came running down here to kill you for what you did to him."

She appeared genuinely startled at this. "What? He wasn't coming to kill me for being a member of the B.S.A.A.? That's impossible. There was no way he could have broken through his brainwashing and remembered me."

"Impossible or not," Jill said, "he did it."

"It happened when he tried to attack me," Claire said, feeling a sudden surge of affection for Steve. "Perhaps you underestimated the power of his love."

"Oh, no, no, no," she laughed, shaking that theory away. "I have learned from past mistakes and adopted a delicate touch that works around such things. Attempting to bludgeon through existing loyalties results in the subject gibbering at nothing, trapped forever in his own mind."

Jill looked suddenly sick.

"But, let us do this properly." She reached up to her face and lowered her head; Claire strained to see what she was doing and saw that she was removing dark contacts. When she lifted her head, her eyes were golden, with cat-like pupils. She bowed with a mocking flourish. "I am Alex Wesker, immortal and soon to be a god."

"Oh no, not this again," Jill muttered. "Real original plan, that. Tell me, what are _you_ planning to unleash on the population to ensure that only the people with the 'best' DNA survive?"

Alex's eyes suddenly flared red, and she took a threatening step towards her. "How _dare_ you? I would have to be a completely daft, idiotic, idealistic _fool_ to leave the decision of the population of my glorious world up to the whims of some ill-conceived, misbegotten virus; even the old man had a better plan than that, and _I_ have taken it a step further in that each and every one of my Chosen will be picked by me and, like the others I have chosen for my plans so far, given utter loyalty to me, thereby making them trustworthy and perfect."

_Did she just call Wesker idealistic?_ Claire wondered, staring at her in the wake of that speech.

"Loyalty?" Jill demanded. "Is that what you call it? The way the members of the H.C.F. did your will, marching to their own slaughter and carrying it out themselves because you had done something to their minds—you consider that to be _loyalty_? You are _sick_, Alex."

"At least I'm consistent," Alex sneered. "Look at you, feeling pity for people who hurt you. You're the one who is sick, Jill Valentine."

She flinched and glared at her. "But why? If they were 'loyal' to you, then why use them in such a way?"

"Because they were insufferable fools before their indoctrination!" she snapped. "Most of them couldn't even accept that they had been abandoned to the mercy of the Organization, let alone accept the final death of their _commander,_" she said, grinding out every syllable of the word. "And as you know, one thing I despise is when people give too much credit to the dead." She closed her eyes and smiled. "Consider it a small indulgence of mine, a final lullaby of hatred for weak, fallen Albert."

_Mass murder is "a small indulgence" to her?_ Claire thought, recoiling in horror.

"It's nothing complicated, really. I simply saw the H.C.F. for what it was and used them accordingly—the way you would use any dangerous, volatile tool, wielding it in such a way to accomplish your goals but still bring about its own destruction. Much as I have used your little team, in fact."

"Why are you doing this?" Claire whispered, staring at the woman who was so very different from the one she had pretended to be. "Is it for revenge?"

"Revenge?" She laughed. "What reason would I have for seeking revenge on you? All you did was eliminate some meddlers…and help clear the path to my glory. Now you stand in my path…you and the Organization." She spread her arms wide. "The Organization was more than happy to help me find my position with the B.S.A.A. when I told them my plans, never dreaming that once I had eliminated the remnants of Albert's legacy, I would turn on them. As it is, they still don't know."

Without offering any sort of warning, Jill fired her gun.

Alex stepped to the side, moving so quickly that she was a blur, seeming almost entirely invisible for a split second. The bullet went past her harmlessly. "You didn't really think that would work, did you?" she sneered. "Oh, and before you get your hopes up—my virus is entirely stable. But enough of this. We've wasted too much time as it is."

"Are you going to kill us?" Claire asked, looking around the room desperately. She couldn't see a way to escape. Shooting at Alex would clearly have no effect, but if she could trigger Chris's security system…

"Kill you? I would rather not." She laughed. "You've been such a wonderful little team. Each and every one of you could have a place among my Chosen. As it is, however, even I cannot think of a cover story to explain _both_ of you being traitors. Therefore, one of you must be the tragic victim." She smiled at Claire. "I'm sorry, my dear…but I have put too much work into my field experiment to kill her. Jill will be the one to go with me."

"What are you talking about?" Jill demanded, staring at her. Her gaze was suspicious—and horrified.

"You've proved remarkably resistant, but I _did_ only manage to give you the drug one night. No matter, we will soon have plenty of time." She beamed in a twisted mockery of the way she had acted as Kirsty, walking closer to Jill. "Don't you see? I am giving you a chance to live in my world!"

"Oh yes, it sounds like a veritable utopia," she said sarcastically.

"It will be—for me. Everyone else will exist only to serve me. A fitting world for a god, is it not?"

"I would _never_ serve you," Jill retorted.

Claire lifted her gun slowly, counting on not being noticed. Would the security system stop Alex? It was doubtful, but at least it would slow her down. Setting off the alarms, however, would bring the police and possibly rouse the neighborhood. After all the woman had gone through for secrecy, surely she would leave if a crowd arrived.

Alex rolled her eyes. "Jill, really…did you think I would give you a choice?" She laughed, looking suddenly triumphant. "You thought my jab at you earlier was a joke or a mistake, didn't you? But I really believe that for brainwashing to be effective, the subject has to _want_ to be loyal." She took another step towards her. "And believe me, by the time I'm done with you, you'll want nothing more than to obey my every command."

Jill flinched and took a step away, her free hand lifting to her chest in response to some phantom memory, and Claire acted.

"Wesker couldn't beat us, and neither will you!" she shouted, shooting out the window.

The alarms started going off as the glass shattered, wailing eerily, and she knew that an alert was being sent to the police. She grabbed Jill's arm and started to run. She knew they wouldn't make it far, but they just needed to delay for long enough.

"Stop using my name as if it only applies to one person!" Alex shouted, running towards them as a blur. She slammed into them like a force of nature, thrusting them apart with a slight movement of her hands.

Claire staggered backwards with a gasp of pain, sure that one of her ribs was broken. She held the area, trying to stumble out of the way as Alex came at her again. Her hands closed around her throat like a vice, and Claire realized with a spike of fear that she wasn't going to waste any time playing around. She was just going to crush her neck and move on.

But Jill was up and running, crashing into Alex and bringing up her gun to shoot.

The woman spun around, smacking her backwards with one hand. "What are you trying to accomplish?" she demanded. "I'm immortal!"

"You're _what_?" Claire asked in horror, backing away from her towards the wall.

"Immortal," she sneered. "It means I cannot die." She rushed towards her again, smashing her against the wall.

Claire cried out in agony, hearing the _snap_ as more of her bones broke. Hot pain stabbed through her. At the same time, the security system activated, and a net fell from the ceiling to trap Alex.

Jill ran forward and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the way even as their opponent burst free of the net. Running was once again a futile effort; she had reached them before they made it more than a few feet away.

_I can't take much more of this,_ Claire thought in a daze, as Alex knocked her backwards with another sharp blow.

She turned to Jill again, striking her across the jaw and sending her backwards. She was using much less force there, not wanting to kill her. She hit her again, moving in for a third blow. Jill cried out in pain, falling to the ground and trying to roll away as the other woman's foot smashed down onto her leg.

A sudden memory shot into Claire's mind, and she dropped to the floor, crawling towards Jill. A spear burst out of the wall, taking even Alex by surprise. It struck her in the shoulder and forced her backwards, pinning her to the wall, and she blinked at it in surprise.

"Unpredictability," she said, with an oddly calm smile for someone stuck to the wall by a spear. "Of course."

Jill didn't waste any time, even with one leg crushed and twisted. She scrambled up off of the floor and raised her gun, shooting Alex before she could get free to dodge. "Not so much a god after all," she said, firing again and again.

The bullets struck Alex in the chest and the stomach, creating numerous holes that bled onto her azure dress. She stared down at them, blinking in shock. She seemed as surprised to see them as she had been to see the spear. Another shot struck her in the head, coming out the back of her skull and embedding itself in the wall. She jerked backwards.

Claire stumbled over to stand by Jill, breathing heavily due to her injuries. Was that it? She could hear the police sirens in the distance. They were coming. Everything was going to be all right.

_Except for Steve,_ she remembered. _Oh, Steve…_

"Let's get out of here," Jill said, reaching out to her and shifting most of her weight to her good leg.

She leaned against her, trying to help support her at the same time. She wasn't sure which of them was more injured. She felt tears blurring her eyes again, over everything that had happened. It had all been so terrible, and most of it was the fault of that one, strange woman.

And Alex began to laugh.

Claire looked up in amazement. The blood was drying on her dress as she reached up with one hand to pull the spear free. The skin around the bullet wound in her head was knitting back together, leaving only the dried blood as testament to what had happened.

"What part of 'cannot die' didn't you understand?" she hissed.

"It's too late!" Claire shouted, forcing herself to speak despite her horror. _It didn't kill her. A bullet in her brain didn't kill her. All of those shots didn't kill her._ "Do you hear those sirens, Alex? The police are coming! You'll be seen; you'll never be able to work undercover again!"

Alex smiled. "Well. Perhaps you're right." She reached into a pocket on her dress and pulled out a small device. "This isn't worth one sad, failed field experiment." Then she pressed the button on the device, and the room started to shake.

Claire looked up in shock as pieces of the ceiling started to fall down; Jill tried to run and fell backwards as the dining room exploded.

"You don't have time to run," Alex said calmly. "I prepared this when you all ran off and left me alone. In a very short time, the entire house will explode, most likely killing everyone inside. Except for me, of course. Immortality is such a lovely thing."

They tried to flee anyway, but the ceiling was falling down on them in huge chunks, balls of flame burned them and forced them back as parts of the house exploded, and everything shook and jostled them around. Claire clung tightly to Jill, but soon she couldn't even see her, or anything else.

"Give my love to Ozwell and Albert!" Alex screamed, as destruction rained down upon them.

Enough of the room had collapsed that she could see daylight. She tried to run, but turned back when she realized that she had lost Jill. A piece of the wall had fallen on her, trapping her in the wreckage.

"Jill!" she shouted, just as something struck her on the head and sent her spiraling down into darkness.


	30. Chapter 30: Report

Chapter 30: Report

Jill awoke in a room she didn't recognize. She blinked painfully, trying to see where she was. There were people there. People…in the white coats of scientists, all standing over her.

_Doctors,_ she told herself, even as she tried to escape and was held down. She was shouting something, but she wasn't sure what. _They're probably doctors._

But no, Alex had been going to capture her. She was going to take her and use her in experiments, twist her mind until she either was loyal or had gone as utterly mad as Horbes. And so she fought with all her strength, even though she was in agony, even though she felt like she might collapse at any minute.

_I will_ not_ let this happen again!_ she thought viciously, as she forced one man away from her. That was good. There were too many, but she couldn't stop. She couldn't give in.

"Jill!"

It was a familiar voice—a trusted voice. She slowly stopped fighting as Chris came into view. He looked much better than he had before, and now he was walking, out of bed at last. She realized that he must have been discharged while she was unconscious.

"Jill, relax," he said, reaching towards her. "You're in the hospital. You need help, Jill. You were badly hurt. Please, stop fighting."

"I can't," she said, her voice a rasp. He had to understand her reactions. She couldn't force her mind to work rationally in a situation like this. She couldn't trust those people.

_Maybe Dr. Jones,_ she thought sadly. But he was gone, brutally murdered by Alex. The thought of that woman made her stomach twist.

"Claire," she said, remembering what had happened.

"She's unconscious, but fine."

She knew that should make her feel better, but she couldn't calm down. All she could think of what Alex, free somewhere, while she was here in this room with these people she couldn't trust…any of them, any at all, could be _hers_, put in place to catch their victim… Panicking, she struggled to sit.

"Jill," Chris said softly. He took her hand and held it gently. "I'm here. You know I would never let anyone hurt you. Will you trust them if I stay here with you?"

She considered that, looking up at him. He was right. She knew he would protect her. If there was one person in the world she knew she could always trust, it was Chris. She looked into his eyes with more emotion than she felt she could ever possibly convey, and then she whispered, "As long as you don't leave."

He smiled. "I'll be right here."

And then she closed her eyes and relaxed, knowing that everything would be fine as long as he was with her. Once she had recovered, she would tell him about what had happened; if he had heard the reports, he had to be wondering about the death of Steve and the disappearance of Kirsty, not to mention the additional corpse that had been in the yard. She would tell him all about that, along with her fears about what Alex might do with her ability to subvert the loyalty of others.

And then they would make a plan to stop her. Immortal or not, Alex wouldn't get away with this. For what she had done to Steve, Dr. Jones, Horbes, and the countless other lives she had destroyed and ruined, she would pay.

_A god, Alex? We'll see about that._

xXx

_To my colleagues in the Organization and my ever-loyal followers:_

_The two sub-experiments of the Phobetor Project have produced mixed results. The Judas Experiment was largely a success, with the subject being unable to reveal himself or resist his programmed commands, while at the same time acting true enough to his original nature that no one became overly suspicious. He did report some of his hallucinations and ask his companions for help, however, and I suspect he was trying his hardest to betray himself. The technique will need to be refined further._

_One notable setback is that at the very end, the subject identified me by name, a wholly unexpected phenomenon. Due to some of the unusual habits he displayed, my belief is that during the experiments, someone accidentally placed a trigger in his mind related to Claire Redfield—causing the memories of his imprisonment to be unlocked when he attacked her. I am certain this was an accident; whoever was responsible will report to me immediately._

_The field experiment, on the other hand, was an utter failure. Without the proper laboratory setting and regular administration of the Phobetor drug, it is impossible to weaken the subject's mind enough for manipulation, even when working on a subject with existing stress disorders. In retrospect, we should have kept her on the list of initial targets, but the potential was too great to be ignored._

_You must see that we have made great progress._

_Now, before I left, I posed a question to you about the nature of compassion. I asked you to consider the following: "Imagine that there is a single speck of compassion glowing in the blackest of hearts. What will this cause?"_

_By now you will have come up with answers. Undoubtedly the majority of you have put forth the timeless answer you think I want to hear, that compassion is a weakness and our theoretical black-hearted individual will be destroyed by it in the end. Some of you will have taken the middle ground, saying that it will have no consequences at all, being drowned out by the greater presence of the darkness. Finally, there must be a few brave individuals who will tell me that it is a strength, for compassion can win true loyalty and respect, and a mercy paid upon even an enemy may one day be returned in kind._

_You are all wrong._

_There will be weakness, there will be loyalty, there will be people who go mad when they should have stood strong, there will be people who stand strong when they should have gone mad, there will be the twisting of memories and the destruction of many, there will be strength and weakness and conflict that could fly in any direction at all. In short, compassion is unpredictable, the wild variable in an otherwise perfect equation. Therefore, we must dispense with it._

_Finally, I need to address the rumors I have heard among my allies from the Organization. Some of you are saying that I betrayed you—that Rathbourne's death was no accident, that the B.S.A.A. is coming too close to the truth, and that I have wasted your resources without visible gain._

_That is an utter lie. Who is your enemy? It is not I, but the B.S.A.A. whom you need to fear. They will be ruthless as they come after you. They have learned the price of compassion, and now they will stop at nothing to try to destroy us. Stand strong. Be ready. When the darkness is closing around you, you will know the truth of my words._

_For my own part, I will return to my castle to strengthen our forces and aid you. All who fear may come to me, for I will never let my Chosen fall. A new era is dawning, and we shall be the ones to usher it in._

_A. W._

The End

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Yes, it's true-we've reached the end of this story! By now most of the questions and mysteries should be answered, at least through implication. If there's anything you're still wondering about, ask me. There <em>are_ a couple of things I won't be able to tell you, as they will not be answered until the sequel. And yes, the wheels were in motion for the sequel from the very beginning; it won't be immediate, but the sequel will be on its way._

_I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I loved writing it. This really was a lot of fun, and I really got into it when writing it. In fact, Alex _still_ won't leave me alone! For those of you who wrote reviews as we were going, your reviews were wonderful and I enjoyed seeing what you had to say. I feel a little sad that it's over...but I know that I only have to wait until the next story._

_Stay tuned, and God bless you all!_


End file.
